


My Future

by IntrovertedWife



Series: My Love [4]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkward Cullen, Awkward Sexual Situations, Awkwardness, Dalish Elves, Dogs, Dragon Age II Spoilers, Dragon Age Lore, Dragon Age Spoilers, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Elves, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hope, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, Love, Mage Rights, Mages, Orlais, POV Cullen Rutherford, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Relationship(s), Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Humor, Swimming, The Chantry, Val Royeaux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-07-24 00:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 135,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7485057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IntrovertedWife/pseuds/IntrovertedWife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A surprise sequel to My Hope. </p><p>After Cullen rescues Lana Amell from the fade, the two of them find their lives at a junction. With no Grey Wardens, no Circles, and no Inquisition, what will they do? All they have is each other and a lot of questions.</p><p>Pretty much a bunch of fluff, some tears, then more fluff of Cullen, Lana, Leliana and others running around in Val Royeaux. There might be a few other surprise cameos along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyGoat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGoat/gifts), [kelseyr713](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelseyr713/gifts).



> I hadn't intended to start this so early, but it's my birthday so have a present!

 

Maker, that was a lot of gold, and silk. Far more silk than he would have expected in anything related to the chantry. In his mind, the chantry was all hard wood pews, grouted cobblestones, and fraying woolen robes. Cullen felt a growing urge to turn around and run, and they hadn't technically gotten past the front room, which Orleisans would argue themselves to death over whether it was a foyer or a vestibule. He missed his old days of referring to it as the mudroom, which would certainly cause some of the soft spoken Mothers in Val Royeaux to faint straight to the marble floors.

"Forgive the state of things," the Divine spoke beside him. She'd rolled up her drooping sleeves and pinned them in place with the eye of the Inquisition. It felt strange to see the symbol that encompassed so much of his life yet again. "I'm afraid no one's really cleaned it up since Justinia."

"Leliana, it's beautiful," Lana gasped, her eyes widening even more as the Divine pushed open a door revealing a room large enough to house the entire scouting regiment of the Inquisition. With the inborn manners of a dog, Honor barreled past her owner to stand panting in the middle of the room. Her stubby tail wiggled back and forth, daring Cullen to call her out for being naughty in the face of such adorableness. Sighing, he only pointed a finger at her and threatened in a whisper, "Do not break anything."

"Oh dear," Lana's gaze wandered over to him and she placed a hand to her gaunt cheeks, "I fear this may be too ostentatious for the Commander."

"Nonsense," Leliana waved her hand at Lana's statement before lifting a flint up off the mantle and bringing to life a candelabra dangling over a table inlaid with not only gold but what looked like silver and possibly rubies as well. "This is the breakfast nook," she gestured at the table whose sale could probably buy them an entire cottage. "And somewhere in the back is a proper dining table."

"A proper..." now Lana's lips slackened in her own shock. Cullen turned his cocky grin and mouthed "ostentatious" back at her. She only shrugged, her eyes widening further. This was even beyond the jaded Arlessa.

"Wait until I show you the bedroom. There's a jewel encrusted washing basin from the Blessed Age."

"I..." Lana moved to take a step, when her body slipped out from under her tight control. Cullen raced forward, both hands grabbing onto her. One caught her arm, digging tight around her brittle bones, while the other managed to wrap around her waist. It pained him how easy it was to lift her back up, but he kept a calm turn to his face.

As he bore her far too light weight, Lana lifted her weary head. "Sorry, perhaps I should sit for a spell," then she paused and laughed at her own pun. Even while putting on a brave face, Cullen and Leliana shared a concerned glance over Lana's head.

"Allow me," the Divine wrapped her own arms around Lana's waist, the mage winding a hand over her friend's shoulders. "Most of the furniture here's as hard as a chantry pew, but Justinia had one of the softest divans I've ever sat upon installed which I ordered moved here for the time being." Guiding her past the golden arm chairs with high backs designed to make the sitter look imposing and not comfortable, Leliana jerked her chin at this mythical divan. While the rest of the furniture bore the same crimson, deep gold, and cherry wood motif of the chantry proper, the divan was every designers worst nightmare. Wide enough to seat two people, it bore a swooping back that bulged at the bottom to fill into someone's lower back, while the sitting cushions themselves fluffed upwards with a good foot of downy give. But what was perhaps most perplexing was the upholstery done in soft pinks and greens and bearing a continually repeating folksy chicken pattern.

The Divine helped Lana down onto it, then sat beside her. Ever since she first threw her arms around Lana in her office, Leliana hadn't let her get further than a few feet, even chasing away some very important grand clerics, not that Cullen could blame her. He felt the same need when he looked at Lana, to touch her skin, hear her voice, and remember that this was all real. She was back.

Uncertain what to do, Cullen slid off the pack around his neck, letting it lay beside the door. He picked up one of the chairs and pulled it closer. Sweet Maker, the thing had to weigh a good hundred pounds. Not expecting it to be made from solid gold, Cullen struggled to get a better grip before a chair worth more than himself slipped from his fingers and broke. Gritting, he managed to lift it a few inches off the floor and placed it near the divan. He caught a small quirk of Leliana's lips from his strain, but she didn't say anything. She was too busy fussing over Lana, who kept trying to wave it all away.

"If you are tired, you could nap," Leliana said, gesturing back towards the most imposing room in the apartments lurking behind a solid door. "The bed is beyond grand, but the reliefs carved into it are...not what one would expect. Apparently, Divine Innocente had a particular aesthetic that belied her rather stringent reign."

Lana buried the panic he came to know whenever sleep was mentioned. She needed to rest so her body could recuperate, and she knew it. But any mention of sleep and returning to the fade drew forth a sinking in her lips and dread in her eyes. "No," Lana shook her head, her hand patting Leliana's in a comforting fashion. The Divine frowned, her painted lips knotting from the sharp bones poking up through Lana's skin. "I only need to sit for a time. Take in all this grand splendor. It's..."

"You didn't see the apartments the first time you visited the Grand Cathedral," Leliana smiled. "Though these are nothing compared to mine."

"I'd imagine," Lana bobbed her head. "Enough room to raise your nugs?"

"Three families."

"You've been to the Grand Cathedral previously?" Cullen interrupted. He shifted against the hard seat already trying to flatten his tailbone. Any longer in it and he was liable to wind up without a backside, period. Absently, his hand patted Honor's head as she took up sentry sitting beside him.

Lana tipped her head, "Officially, no. But..."

"She assisted me in a small matter," Leliana filled in.

"I hope there were no darkspawn involved for you," Cullen chuckled.

"Maker, no," Leliana shook her head with a laugh and then a wry smile rose, "No sex either."

"Leliana," Lana groaned, burrowing her head back deeper into the cushions.

"Am I to keep pretending as if I'm not aware?"

"No, but, I don't know. It's a bit...all," Lana waved her hands through the air as if she was trying to cast a spell, then she glanced over at Cullen. He was doing his best to glare through the wall and pretend he wasn't there. It was one thing when her dearest friend caught him nearly naked with Lana, but now that Leliana was the Divine his brain all but shut down at the very idea. Maker, it was bad enough fearing what Alistair would do to him. What havoc could a vengeful Divine wreak?

For her part, Leliana merely turned her head back and forth, washing her hands of the whole affair. She'd left her official hat back in her office, she claimed it was so she'd fit through the doors. Cullen began to suspect it was because she didn't want to be the Divine when with Lana. "I assume you two are still..."

"Yes," Lana interrupted, then concern shifted over her face and her eyes darted over to Cullen, "I mean, right?"

"Of course," leaning off the chair, he grabbed onto her hand. The chill of it rattled across his own skin, and he placed his other palm overtop it to warm her up. "Assuming you still wish to..."

"Oh yes, I mean, I only..." Lana glanced over at her friend and sighed, "We're still working on it."

He felt the calculating glare not of the Divine but the Spymaster who worked beside him for a year, cutting through every inch of his body. She sized him up almost immediately, causing a chill to ride up Cullen's spine. As her ice blue eyes burned through his soul, her whispered threats of what she'd do to him if he ever dared hurt Lana bobbed out of his buried memory. And that was from before she had the entire arm of the chantry with her. Could a Divine declare an Exalted March against a single person?

Either unaware of the rising tension, or in order to diffuse it, Lana rose up a bit from her seat and cheerfully called out, "I could really go for a snack."

 

* * *

 

 

Half of a picked clean chicken rested in the middle of the breakfast nook table. At first Lana felt a bit self conscious having Leliana watch her eat, but the gnawing hunger in her stomach won out over the blush and she dove fingers in. On occasion, Cullen would try one of the multitude of sauces she'd mention, dipping into them with the sweeter breads left on silver platters, but for the most part he also sat back watching. Apparently, it was quite the event to see the nearly starved to death, ex-grey warden chomp through a half dinner. Only Honor attempted to join in with her, the mabari steadfast as she sat statue-still waiting for her treat. She chuckled at the seriousness the dog mirrored from her owner, and her fingers occasionally slipped a pinch of bread to her greedy mouth.

Lana reached for one of the mustard based sauces when her stomach rolled in a loop. Having fallen barren for Maker only knew how long, at first Lana couldn't fill it with more than a few bites. Each day she found herself able to eat more, but pushing past that limit only ended in nausea or worse.

"I'm afraid I'm stuffed," Lana admitted aloud, folding her napkin up on the edge of the table. She caught Cullen's eyes wandering over the remaining food, a calculating concern flaring in them.

Leliana shook her head, "Don't concern yourself with that. The chefs will find something to do with the remainder, I'm certain."

"Chefs?" Lana mouthed at Cullen, and he shrugged. Back at the Vigil they only had the one, and she also doubled as a blacksmith when Wade was in one of his moods.

A soft whine drew them towards the apartment doors cresting open. A cleric stood in the opening, her robes starched and pressed, whiter than a star. She practically glowed regulations as she ran a finger down the clipboard in her hands. "Your Most Holy," she bobbed her head deep to the Divine relaxing in the chair, one of Leliana's hands holding up her chin.

"What is it?"

"It's only that, well, you see..."

"Maker's Breath, spit it out Gatlin," Leliana rose up from the chair, a fire in her words.

Gatlin dove deep into her clipboard, her entire face eclipsed by the vellum, as if she hoped it could defend off the incoming Divine's wrath. "Well, my Perfection, it's...you seem to have spent most of the day in private commune with..."

Lana rose up at the hand pointed at her and a panic knotted around her throat. She didn't want...what did she want? Maker, with a full stomach and her limbs crying out for relief, all she wanted was to rest on the divan. Not about to let her friend waft in the breeze, Leliana interrupted, "The Commander of the Inquisition and his accompaniment."

"Of course," Gatlin bowed in relief, her quill scratching down the information for chantry records.

"And they will be staying in these apartments for..." Leliana turned back to Lana for an answer, but she had none. Her mouth jammed shut tight as her widening eyes hunted through the ether. Smoothly spinning back, Leliana continued, "some time. They are not to be disturbed under any means."

"Of course, Most Holy," Gatlin bobbed again, her continual bowing giving Lana seasickness. "What of servants come with food or to draw baths?"

Leliana turned fully to Lana so the cleric couldn't see her face, but Lana only shrugged. In theory, no one else in Val Royeaux should recognize the Hero of Ferelden, but her portrait was passed around for sometime, especially after that woodcut was made and inked into every one of Tethras' books. "I will..." the Divine sized up her underling, "think of something."

"Very good, very good," Gatlin jotted that down as well, her tone switching quickly to condescending. Her watery grey eyes snapped up at the Divine, who crossed her arms and lifted only the barest edge of her lips in a snarl. Realizing her mistake immediately, Gatlin bobbed so low she was practically on her knees.

"If there is nothing else, the...Commander and I have much to discuss," Leliana said.

"Begging your pardon, my Worship, but as I said previously, you have spent the entire day with the Commander...without taking any other appointments."

A groan rolled through Leliana's throat, far more guttural than anything Lana thought her ever capable of. Even when under great stress, somehow Leliana always managed to keep the sweetness in her tone for the sake of appearances. But now she looked as if she wanted to rip the cleric limb from limb.

"It is the Grand Enchanter, is it not?"

"Yes, and she's, um, she's here," Gatlin squeaked, rolling back and forth on her heels.

"Andraste guide me," Leliana prayed, her hands clasping. "I cannot avoid this, not if Vivienne..." She snapped her crystal eyes up and spoke only at Lana. "Will you be all right to remain here for a few hours? Perhaps the entire day?"

Lana opened her mouth to speak, when she caught the cleric leaning in listening intently to try and suss out any gossip. Quick to catch on too, it was Cullen who answered instead, "Yes, I think I will retire. The road exhausted me more than I anticipated."

"Good, good," Leliana bowed her head, her eyes closing as she screwed up the courage to face whatever the Grand Enchanter had for her. She rose away from the table, already adjusting her robes and making preparations to swing by and pick up the hat. At the door, suddenly she scampered back to the table and threw her arms around Lana's shoulders. In shock, Lana barely had time to embrace back before her old friend stood and drug the cleric away with her.

Lana held her breath until the door clicked shut, leaving them both alone in the ostentatious room. "That could have gone worse," she said. A chill crept up her skin and she wrapped her hands around shoulders to try and combat it.

Always watching her, Cullen reached into his pack by the door and unearthed a blanket. Blue with green checks, it smelled of horse and the waning bitter weeds of the Anderfells. They bought it off a rattling merchant whom Alistair made certain to take the time to ask if he knew of any golems they could use. Alas, they didn't find anymore slayers of birds to add to their retinue.

After helping to wrap it around her shoulders, Cullen slumped back into his chair. One hand remained pinned to her upper arm, massaging life into it. Lana sighed into the back of her throat at the thought of his hands climbing up her legs to dig away at the pain. "You look exhausted," he said, those honey eyes trying to pierce through her hooded ones.

"I always look exhausted," she groaned. Cullen pursed his lips from her hand wave answer, and she chuckled at him. "No naps, but...we could sit on the sofa and would you mind rubbing my legs?"

He smiled, happy to have a task ahead of him, "Of course I don't mind." After piling up the few plates, he rose to his feet and offered a hand to Lana. She took it and brought her full weight to the waning muscles in her legs. The calves screamed out first, a fire burning from her daring to use them, then the thighs joined in. Lana felt herself sinking towards the floor -- she'd pushed herself too far -- but Cullen swooped in to rescue her. He caught her about the waist, both hands steadying her up as he transferred her weight off her legs and onto his arms. "I've got you," he assured her.

Lana couldn't bury the smile from how obvious his statement was as he worked her over to the couch. After she fell down into the cushions, Cullen gently scooped up her legs and brought them into his lap as he joined her.

"Maker's breath, this is comfy," he gasped while arranging the blanket around Lana's legs. Beginning with her right foot, he dug the heel of his hand against it, pushing with enough force to bring the blood down.

Biting down a moan almost on the edge of pain, she laughed, "I know. Think Leliana would notice if we stole it?"

"Most certainly," Cullen said, his palms rolling around her ankle and worrying up her calf. The pressure was a harrowing mix of pain when he gripped tight, and pleasure when he released it - her muscles contracting the way they were supposed to instead of the jagged stone feel of before. "If you intend to abscond with it, you best hope you can evade an Exalted March," he said, barely a hint of a laugh in his tone.

Rising up as best she could, Lana's fingers traced down his jawline, then back up so his scruff scratched them up. "I have faith in you," she sighed wistfully. Focusing on her thumb, she traced it against his lips in a tempting circle before aligning it with his scar. By all that was real, she ached to kiss him, to tousle his far too long tresses, and... Lana shifted in her seat, aware of the a blush burning not only her cheeks but up through her inner core as well. She was uncertain what to do with either of them, her body always fighting her every move. Releasing him, she leaned back, savoring the massage as Cullen switched to her other leg.

Silence fell between them while Cullen's hands broke apart her pain and rebuilt it into something almost livable, at least for a few hours. With the sting fading into the background, exhaustion roared back to life, tempting her into its grips. Lana crinkled up her nose, damning the yawn rising up her throat back to its grave. She felt amber eyes watching her struggle, but he didn't say anything, only kept up his work. As his hands climbed higher above her knees to dig and knead into her thighs, the dormant fire burned through her. If he felt the same rising desire, he did his damnedest to hide it, his face neutral to the point of being unreadable. Lana bit back an accidental moan when his flexing fingers spread over the tops of her thighs.

"Did you mean it?" Cullen stopped, his work done. He laid her legs out over his lap and smoothed out the blanket, wrapping her in as much warmth as he could find.

"No, I won't steal the divan. I'm not certain how I'd get it down those winding stairs without breaking something."

He chuckled once at her thinking he was truly afraid she'd steal from the Divine. His hand flexed overtop her legs, and he lifted one, almost as if he wanted to reach out and hold her hand, before he dug into the back of his neck. "I meant after I, we pulled you out of the hold upon you in the Fade and you..."

Screwing his eyes up tight, Cullen swallowed deep, the discomfort in him drawing Lana closer. She struggled to sit up higher, her legs pulling away from his lap. The move caused him to look over at her, but the sudden sadness at her departure vanished as she snuggled her head against him. With a grateful sigh from the bottom of his heart, Cullen pulled his arm around her, enveloping her into his half embrace.

After kissing the top of her head, he started again, "When you said you wanted to be with me, in the future, did you...I understand, stress, and you'd only just revived. It's understandable that you weren't thinking clearly and made a brash--"

Lana knotted her hands around the back of his neck and guided him to her for a kiss. His guarded lips took a moment to soften, as if they were tied up in the same knots twisting his tongue. But as she curled the back of her fingers against his cheek, and he pressed his hand to the small of her back pulling her tighter to him, Cullen melted at her touch. With the tip of her nose sliding against his, she whispered, "I meant every word I said. I love you."

"I love you too," he responded back and then a bright smile lifted his lips. He wore the same every time she'd tell him the truth in her heart, a surprise that it was real, that she loved him. "My concern is only in, we, we're in Val Royeaux."

"What now?" Lana caught on to what he was dancing around. "Everyone worries about ending the blight..."

"Stopping the would-be darkspawn god," he said, both of his hands locking around her back.

"But it's the aftermath when the real work begins," she sighed, remembering Amaranthine and the toll it took upon her. "It doesn't take much to knock over a city, but rebuilding one..."

"Even after years, it's never the same," Cullen sighed as he buried his face into her scraped hair.

"No, it isn't," her eyes darted away. She forgot that he spent years in Kirkwall after the chantry explosion, same as she did in Amaranthine. Both of them separated by a sea, struggling to put back together what was taken in an instant. "Cullen, the future, I..."

"We never had much time together," he said, a rueful smile falling in place.

"Having second thoughts about trudging across thedas to find me?" she smirked, trying to be playful about the truth. People wanted to act like love was enough, somehow it would sustain and blanket over any problems, but she'd already lived through that falsehood once before. Love took work and sometimes vice versa.

"Never," he pressed his forehead to hers, the full luminosity of his amber eyes beaming into hers. "I...I've never felt like this before and Maker, I don't want to ruin it by rushing things, or not rushing things, or anything else I could..." His eyes slipped closed and he whispered, "This is all new to me."

"So," Lana ran her fingers over his cheeks, "we take time, get to know each other. I don't think there are any darkspawn about to knock down the door at this moment." She turned and lifted a hand to her ear, "Nope, I'm not hearing any. No, grand clerics screaming about a dragon swooping in out of the sky."

Laughing at her flapping her hand to mimic a dragon, Cullen asked, "What do we do?"

She shrugged, "I..." Rolling her tongue through her cheek, she struggled to sit up higher in his arms. Draping her elbows beside his neck she smiled, "have no blighted idea." So she kissed him, the taste of his lips pushing her past the weighty questions that trailed her every move. Since she was nineteen people placed the weight of nations upon her shoulders, and that pressure only broke to have her thrown into a never ending struggle to survive. For the first time in half her life, she felt she could stop and really breathe.

Snuggling to his chest, Lana ran her fingers down his tunic, the filth of the road flicking up from her nails. His clothes needed a good washing, as did hers. All of which she wore amounted to a few purchased over shirts and the still borrowed tunics and trousers from the men who rescued her. "What's your favorite color?" she asked.

"What do you...?" Cullen started as if she yanked him from his own waking dream by her question. Locking his hands around her back he took a deep breath, Lana rising against his chest, before slipping his eyes closed. "It's green."

"Really? I'd have guessed red or...maybe a golden yellow, because," she gestured at his outfit that was of a drab autumn motif. "I mean, even your armor at Skyhold was all golds, and crimsons and..."

He chuckled at that, the muscles across his chest flexing in response below her cheek. "I, well, suppose I wore the templar armor for so long the colors seemed natural to me."

"And crimson hides the blood stains better," Lana said pragmatically. She had more than a few robes with the same look, all deep reds and tans so she'd appear presentable around nobles while covered in the smears of her work.

"Too true," Cullen curled his arms around her, as if he wanted to engulf her inside his chest. After pecking a kiss against her forehead, he sighed, "I haven't worn anything green since I was a boy."

"There's time now," she sighed. From the warmth spilling off of his soothing body, Lana's eyelids decided to anchor themselves shut. But she wasn't tired, no. There was no reason to sleep, not for a few hours. Not at all.

"I...had not thought of that," he tipped his head back against the cushion of the divan, only the susurrus of breath whispering between them. "What of you? What's your favorite color?"

"Mmm, hm?" Lana tried to lift up higher, but her shoulders could barely command her arms, both of them lead against Cullen.

"Do you need to sleep?" he shifted, "I can take you to the bedroom...and whatever imposing decor awaits inside."

"Nope," Lana shook her head against his chest. She raised it a bit to convince him she was wide awake, but her eyelids were in no mood to lift. "I'm not tired at all. Only lost in the warmth of you, here," she paused once, a prick of tears billowing behind those closed lids, "with me."

Cullen sighed, clearly not convinced of her claims to not be exhausted, but he didn't pick her up and cart her to the bedroom. Instead, he shifted her in his lap so he had a better grip on her. "Well, if you're not tired, then what's your favorite color?"

"You're going to find this funny," Lana said, the strain in her voice lifting as it lilted into a soft laugh, "but it's blue. More an aqua teal, like the sparkling northern seas than the deep indigo of the Wardens, but..."

"Blue," he smiled, his chin resting comfortably in the thickest tuft of her damaged hair. "I can see that."

"Oh?"

"You were often in sapphire colored robes while in the circle."

"Right," she chewed through the fog wrapping around her brain, more of her body trying to convince it to sleep. "The tower. We'd rarely get much say in our robes, but I found if I helped out in the stockroom with the pair of mages who did most of the enchanting and sewing I could make a few suggestions."

Cullen laughed, "Sneaky, but prudent."

"And you," she tried to will her fingers to reach up and touch him, to do anything but rest limply against his sides, but exhaustion took the power from her. "You never wore anything green in the tower."

"No, I did not," he chuckled again, his fingers rubbing circles against her back. She didn't want to sleep, to face the fade and what could be lurking there for her, waiting to pounce and...and maybe not let her wake up. But wrapped up safe in Cullen's arms, with the temerity of the chantry's luxury surrounding them, slumber glided across her skin like water from a standing pool. Cullen seemed to sense the change as her head grew too heavy to lift. His gentle circling paused and his fingers locked behind her back, holding her tight to him in the event she fell asleep.

Lana heard a soft rushing on the edge of hearing, like surf pounding against the sand. "That's a shame," she mumbled her last words, before sleep snatched her back to the place she struggled for two years to leave.


	2. Choices

"Leliana, this is foolish," Lana sighed, her hands extended at the shoulders while an elven woman kept stretching a string across her back and huffing with each measurement. She got an exceptionally long sigh after the seamstress wrapped the string around Lana's waist and brought the waning size to her face.

Her friend cast off her Divine robes for the far more practical look of an average, forgettable cook waltzing through the back rooms of the Grand Cathedral. It wouldn't fool anyone with half a sense as Leliana always wore this ethereal glow around her, but she seemed more at ease without the needs of the chantry bowing her brow. Leliana sat upon the famed divan that Lana wound up sleeping on for most of the night. When she woke, she found herself locked in Cullen's limp arms, his head fully tossed back as a gurgling snore worked its way up through his throat and out the nostrils. Lana regretted forcing him to remain there, doubly so when he rose and had to dig out a crick in his neck and spine, but she was grateful that he stayed with her. Maybe one day she could finally face sleep without fear stirring in her heart.

After a few hours of the early morning lost reading and a hearty breakfast dropped outside the door by quick and silent footsteps, she found herself at the mercy of Leliana while propped up on a footstool, spinning when commanded. Bolts of fabrics rested beside Leliana on the sofa, which she kept running her fingers over before pronouncing which was the better option. Her eyes darted up to Lana and she sighed, "Lanny, you can't tell me you intend to spend the rest of your life in ill fitting men's clothing."

"Well, no," she sighed, then reached down quickly to catch the slipping waistband on her borrowed trousers. Even with a belt, it refused to remain up. "But I don't need all this fancy measuring and fitting and...just give me a robe. I can slip that on, knot up the belt, and be on my way."

Leliana stood up and caught the seamstress' tight hand, "Could you give us a moment, please?"

"I suppose," her orlesian accent was thick, almost to the point Lana couldn't understand it and she relied on Leliana to relay the gist. Bobbing her hair filled with pins, she slipped out of the apartments and gently shut the door.

Once she was certain they were alone, Leliana picked up a bolt of fabric and held it out to Lana's fingers. "Lanny, I know you only arrived, and I do not want to heap more worries upon you."

"Come now," Lana sighed at her friend even while mentally admitting the golden fabric was smooth as water, "worries are part of my diet. You of all people know that."

"Sadly true," Leliana folded her arms across her chest and tipped her head down, "before the...siege at Adamant, you made overtures about leaving the Grey Wardens."

"I," Lana's head bowed to her chest, "yes, I did."

"And you intend to keep with that plan?"

Lana grimaced; even if it was the best decision for her she still felt like a failure for turning her back on them. She did owe the wardens her life, even if she gave it back in return. "Yes. Given what the fade did to...my state, I rather doubt they'd want me back."

Reaching a hand out to grip tight to Lana's hand, Leliana smiled sweetly, her always cherry red lips curled up in a comforting smile. "You have every right to wish for freedom from them."

"I..." Lana tipped her head back and forth, unable to fight back the regret, "suppose. But if they're still struggling to rebuild after two years, then something must have--"

Leliana laughed her crisp, peal-like laughter, the one from before the Temple of Sacred Ashes exploded and darkened her world. For awhile, Lana feared she'd never hear that one again. "You never change, do you? Even still you struggle to keep from racing to help." Lana shrugged. In the end, it was all she really knew. It wasn't what she wanted out of life, but it was what people needed and expected from her.

"My question, concern, is if you are not returning to the Grey Wardens then where do you intend to go?"

Her heart constricted as, always, Leliana drove up through the ribs and right at the heart of the matter. For her whole life she'd been told where to go and what to do. At six she belonged to the circle, at nineteen to the Wardens, and now... It felt both exhilarating and terrifying to think she belonged to herself.

"I don't know, haven't thought as far as..." Lana began, before Leliana interrupted her.

"Things are better for mages, but if someone as well known, as well regarded, as powerful as the Hero of Ferelden walked the streets without answering to anyone I fear what lengths people would jump to."

She said it diplomatically, but Lana could hear all the words her friend didn't speak. "Leils, is there a problem with the mage college?"

"There are always doubters and people who despise change. In truth, I am finding more opposition to my attempts at including elves in the chantry hierarchy. And these are only in minor positions as well. I doubt southern thedas would survive an elven Mother." She patted Lana's hands as if she was the Divine comforting one of her flock instead of the little redhead Bard always trying to gossip about Lana's love life.

"If there's a problem, then..."

"You intend to help with it? To serve with the mage college or in some other capacity?" Leliana interrupted again, her crystal eyes sharpening from Lana's guilty grimace. She was about to offer up her arm without thinking of the consequences.

"I...I have to think about it. About all of it." Out of the myriad of options before her, all Lana knew that what she wanted was Cullen, but they hadn't had the time... No, they hadn't taken the time to discuss that future yet. Maker, what if he intended to return to the Inquisition? What would the Inquisitor make of her now? Would it drive their relationship back underground for the sake of peace? Or... She shut her eyes tight at all the _ors_ sequestered in her heart.

Leliana patted Lana once more before returning to the divan, "In the mean time, I'd think it prudent if no one is made aware of who you are or what you are capable of. To the rest of thedas, the Hero of Ferelden is dead."

"People aren't going to wonder why some random, unknown woman is suddenly living in the Divine's apartments?"

"You are with the Commander of the Inquisition, that should be enough," Leliana said serenely, but there was a smirk at the end. After catching Lana in flagrante delicto with Cullen, the Spymaster only wondered once about their relationship and ever since that talk seemed to treat it like little more than an amusing anecdote. _Oh that Lana, she can't stop falling for blonde templars._ Now there was a question merged in with Leliana's comment. Not one coming from a Spymaster who understood the rigors of war, but a Divine that wanted to protect her dear friend's heart and soul.

"I am with him," Lana said, bobbing her head.

"Good. Now, I believe we should bring back in the seamstress to finish with your outfit selection. Have you given any thought to ruffs? They're proving rather popular," Leliana switched gears completely while cracking open the door and waving the elf back inside.

Lana weighed both bolts in her hand, uncertain what she was supposed to do with any of it. If she was set loose in a market with a full purse, she knew enough to pick up a warm coat, or sturdy boots, and she had a true knack for armor selections, but making something from whole cloth? It was the endless choices all over again. "I've sometimes thought about a, uh, dress?"

"Oh course, a Lady would wish to look her finest," the seamstress yanked out her book and began to flip through silhouettes so quickly Lana's eyes bulged.

"No, nothing so fancy," she all but panicked at one with scaffolding worked into the skirt wide enough it'd clog up the point bridge, "but a simple one with, um, maybe a bit of lace here..." Lana pointed along her chest and the elf nodded.

"Naturally, you'd like to emphasize your Maker given assets." She jotted more things down in a language Lana couldn't read. It couldn't be Orlesian, she'd learned that one after a few years in the Circle. This was a strange mix of symbols and short hand, perhaps something that costumers and sewers passed between each other. More than likely it was a way to jot down notes about temperamental customers without them catching on.

The seamstress' massive blue and brown eyes snapped up from her book, and she tipped her pinned bun at the bolts, "What fabrics would you like it in? There are numerous options available depending upon the season and..."

"That one," Lana said quickly, the woman barely finishing speaking.

That earned her an eyebrow raise and a gentle nod. Either it was a terrible choice, or a surprisingly good one. "How long will it take to finish?" Leliana asked.

"A dress cut whole cloth? I'd say two weeks."

"And there's no way you could hurry it along for the sake of the Divine?" she pried, throwing around the weight of her name for Lana's sake, which only made the mage blush.

"That is using the Divine timescale. But..." her fingers prodded at the tunic dangling off Lana's frame, "I've got a few other clothes I can alter to fit you. None as fine as what we've got planned, but they'll be better than this...whatever you're wearing."

"Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands once. "Now," her fingers prodded at Lana's burned, serrated, and dried out tresses, "the next step is doing something about your hair. I have one of the best barbers in Orlais attending soon. Have you given any thought to it?"

Lana patted her own hair, aware of the damage she did to it, but uncertain what, if anything, could save it. She wasn't one of the lucky people with the striking bone structure who could support a shaved head, as she learned at a young age in the tower before another senior enchanter from Rivain transferred in and took pity on her. But the fade left little behind to work with and it'd take a miracle to fix it without chopping it all off and waiting years for it all to regrow.

"Don't worry," Leliana smiled, her hands wrapping around Lana's shoulders, "he'll think of something. I'm certain." Bobbing her head, Lana sighed. In preparation of getting to work on the demanding schedule, the seamstress began to gather up her bolts of fabric, the book tucked under her arm.

"Um," Lana coughed, an idea percolating in her brain, but she wasn't certain if it was her place to say anything. "I was wondering if I couldn't have a tunic made as well."

"Nothing wrong with tunics, we have a few patterns that would..."

"Actually, it'd be for a man," she gritted her teeth, aware of Leliana's curious stare digging through her blush.

"Do you have his dimensions?"

"Ah, it's the same as this tunic I'm wearing," now the blush was in full blast as the seamstress eyed her up. She was aware of the implications, the bedraggled wanderer wearing only men's clothing, begging for anything to change into. It was one thing to assume she wore whatever was gifted to her by kindly strangers, but to ask for another in the same size, well...

"I can get the numbers off of it, then. Let me guess, the same simple design. No ruffs, or lace about the sleeves or collar."

Leliana snorted at the idea, then covered her mouth with her hand, "None of that, no. It would be unwise for him, a very entertaining image though."

Rocking back and forth on her feet, Lana smiled at the same blasphemous thought as the Divine had. Maker, he'd scowl himself to death in such a thing. After stretching out the tunic and measuring only that, the seamstress yanked open her book. "Very well, and is there anything else you'd like for it?"

"Could you make it in green?"

 

* * *

 

 

Whistling through his teeth, Cullen tried to call Honor away from the trio of women clustered around his dog. The fearsome and dangerously smart mabari looked up at his command, then flopped back down as if she was incapable of rising away from all the gloved fingers digging into her fur. When her back leg began to paddle at the air he knew he was done for.

"What's her name?" one of the women cooed from behind a mask.

Cullen folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "Pain in the ass." He hadn't wanted to leave Lana alone, but Honor needed exercise and he feared how many canticles he'd have to recite if she chewed up any antique furniture or pissed on any priceless chantry historical rugs. Probably enough to go through the whole chant three times over. When Honor's whining switched from 'I want attention' to 'This is getting serious now' he knew he'd have to do something. Then Leliana arrived, somewhat solving the problem. She assured him that she'd keep Lana company until he returned, and that they had much to discuss.

Something in her tone gave him pause, and with every minute ticking by, Cullen's skin itched to return to Lana's side. He remembered the Spymaster's threat to him before she even became Divine. Maker only knew what power she'd flex if she didn't approve of him now. "Honor," Cullen shouted at his dog, "that's enough. We need to get back."

"Oh, she's so adorable," the woman in the red mask squeaked.

"Almost as adorable as her owner," another said before her eyes crawled over every inch of Cullen.

He had his hand around Honor's collar when she spoke and he couldn't stop his mouth from dropping open. Still wearing what he slept in, by the void, wearing what they traveled in for months because Lana got his second change of clothes, he looked more like the wandering sailors working the docks than anyone respectable. He hadn't had time for a proper wash in...it was best to not think upon.

"Mona," the one in red chastised, slapping her gloved hand into the second, "he's dressed like a common street vagrant."

"There's nothing wrong with getting down in the dirt every now and then," she snickered as if he wasn't right there listening.

"Until you find yourself bedridden with some filthy disease," the other continued, her tongue tutting harder over his appearance.

Cullen felt the same shameful blush burning up his neck as he had for years whenever a woman picked apart his appearance as if he was some lopsided cake displayed in a window. It'd slowed as of late, people too scared of the templars to cross the line in Kirkwall, and most showing some respect to the Commander to speak the words away from his hearing. But here in Val Royeaux where appearance was the only metric that mattered, it all came beating back against him. Snarling, Cullen pulled Honor away from the vipers in dresses and pointed her in the direction of the Grand Cathedral.

"March," he ordered, and Honor's lagging tongue snapped back in, her back straightening to attention. Despite the rest of the citizens filling the streets with fascinating smells and sights, the mabari kept her sight straight ahead now.

"Maker's breath, I wish I was home," Cullen groaned. He'd spent little time in Val Royeaux at the behest of the Inquisition, always managing to pass it off to someone else unless it truly required him, like the Blackwall situation. Otherwise, he let Josephine or Leliana handle it. People wore smiles painted upon their masks, but underneath it was all scowls and jaded eyes. It was exhausting just stepping one foot into the streets with a sea of porcelain eyes judging him.

Pinching his shoulders tight, Cullen subconsciously slipped into Commander mode. He was only dimly aware of its existence from when he'd shake it off at night and find his neck tight and his back sore, but the rest of the Inquisition snapped to attention the moment he'd glower from on high. It seemed to be having the same effect in Val Royeaux as well, the denizens sliding further away from the dirty and tousled man who spent a night sleeping upright on the couch and was in no mood for anything. He made it down another three blocks, inching ever closer to the Grand Cathedral in the center of the city. Washing himself in his growing list of pains and complains, Cullen grew more belligerent in every step, when his eyes scattered across a market stall.

Tufts of ornamental flowers bloomed off stems trimmed and bundled together by ribbon, but it was a small pot with silver and green leaves that caught his attention. In their long ride across the Anderfels to civilization, Lana pointed out that exact plant off the sides of a ditch. She said it carried much of the same medicinal qualities as elfroot, but would bloom a bundle of bright blue flowers every spring. A smile broke up his etched on scowl, the frown lines falling away as he thought upon the night spent with her in his arms. Sure, he woke to an aching back and neck, which she apologized profusely for, and then tried to massage away. But it was worth it to hold her close, to feel her heart thrumming strong against his as he watched her eyelids flutter in a dream. Sometimes in her dreams, she'd frown, her fingers clawing at thin air. Cullen would grip one with his thumb rubbing against the back of her hand, and he'd tell her it was all right. She was safe. She had him. She'd always have him.

Right then and there he decided to buy up the not-elfroot plant. It was awkward to cart around the pot in his arms, dirt scattering as he shuffled it around, but Cullen couldn't wipe a smile off his face as he marched it past all the surprised looks of Val Royeaux. What did he care what any of them thought? They didn't matter; the only opinion who did was waiting for him.

It felt beyond strange for him to enter the Grand Cathedral and then turn not to the vast sanctuary but take the eastern walkway where the living quarters of the Mothers were. While not officially disallowed, men were frowned upon in the living areas, but Leliana waved it away. He was the Commander of the Inquisition, which served the chantry. He had every right to be here. It seemed a hollow excuse seeing as how he...

Cullen paused in the winding stairs up the back entrance to the Divine's apartments. While she was gifted with a good twenty rooms, Leliana had little trouble is offering up a small guest section of three to them. They were lovely to rest in, to recuperate, but Cullen knew he couldn't spend his days there. He needed something to do with his time and skills, a cause to devote himself to. He always had, but was that cause still the Inquisition? Scrunching up his nose, he realized he had yet to send a letter to the Inquisitor informing the man of his Commander's whereabouts. That'd have to be rectified soon, plans put in place, and more than likely it'd take time for him to become re-acclimated to the changes from the transfer. Three months was a lifetime to soldiers in the wake of so much upheaval. He'd have to put in most hours of the day for weeks to become the Commander again. Rise, work, and sleep. For years un-counting that was his life, but now? Suddenly, he wanted so much more, but he had no idea how to achieve any of it.

Pausing outside their door, Cullen shifted the plant to his other arm and wondered if he should knock or simply enter. It was their quarters, but Leliana and Lana could be having a private conversation and...letting discretion win, Cullen knocked on the door as he pushed on it. No one shouted for him to stop, so he continued in. "Hello? We've returned," he said as Honor bounded past his legs. She tensed up beside the divan in preparation of leaping upon it, but he shook his head, "Don't you dare."

Rolling her head back, the tongue slipped out in a pant to assure her master that she had no intentions to get anywhere near the fancy furniture. Cullen snickered at her bald faced subterfuge and let his hand drift over her head. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Ah, Commander," the Divine appeared from the bathroom. No, he was supposed to call her Leliana when she wasn't in her robes. She'd insisted with that crystal glare that made him wonder why she spent so much of her life in Skyhold under a hood. Leliana could shape the fabric of thedas with a solitary glower.

"Did you have any problems?" he asked, trying to see around to find Lana. Perhaps she was resting in the bedroom neither of them had yet to see.

"Of course not, it's been a productive morning and...you have a plant in your arms," she gestured at the pot cradled in the crook of his elbow.

"Yes, it..." Cullen's thought drained away as Lana stepped behind Leliana. Sweet Maker, she was beautiful. A wondering smile slid up her luscious lips, almost revealing those rarely shared dimples on either side. Her doe eyes hung below lowered lids, but they darted up to him with a question buried deep inside. How did he last two years without seeing her perfect face beaming at him? Blessed Andraste, he swore he'd do anything for her.

"What do you think of it?" Lana asked, her graceful fingers patting her head, but Cullen didn't follow them. He was too distracted by the charming blush curling up her cheeks. After so many weeks of them laying gaunt against her emaciated face, it warmed his heart to see color and a plumpness return.

"A-Of what?" Cullen stuttered, trying to pinch himself awake.

Lana smiled, her eyes narrowing with confusion, "My hair. I know it's short, far too short, but it was the best that could be done with..."

Finally, he caught on to what her fingers were flicking against. She was trying to yank out her own curls, as if she could straighten them to draw the length out. Cut tight to her head, her ebony hair was combed with a dramatic side part. Still struggling to fluff it up, her yanking hands paused and she folded them in front of her stomach, the question palpable in the air.

Cullen slid across the room, his smile rising as he picked up one of her hands with his free one. "Lana, you're beautiful no matter what," he whispered.

"I don't know, I mean..."

"Even if your hair's short, or long, or straight, or bald-"

"Or grey," she sighed, repeating back the same words he said to her. "There's plenty of that mixed in."

He graced the back of his fingers across her cheek, the nails dipping down into her scar, before he could cup the back of her head. "I can't stop looking at you," he admitted, bringing his forehead to hers.

"Nor I you," Lana said, rising on her tiptoes as if she strained to kiss him when a soft cough broke from their forgotten watcher. Blushing brighter, she slipped back down to the floor and cast a soft apology in Leliana's direction. After a moment, Lana blinked and then gestured at his cargo, "You've brought a plant back?"

"That was what I was wondering about," Leliana said, her body slack despite the crossed arms, but there was an unreadable smirk across her lips. Cullen was uncertain if he'd made the right or wrong choice about Lana's hair, and either seemed as if it would end in a spike trap.

"I spotted it in the market, and, well..." he handed it over to Lana who accepted the plant with more confusion in her face. "You pointed it out when we were in the Anderfells, with the bright blue flowers."

"Oh," her eyes brightened in recognition and Cullen smiled. "You think it's foxglow."

"It's not?" his smile crashed into consternation as he prodded at the silver leaves.

Lana giggled, "No, it's close, I can understand the confusion. Both have the same silver veins running through their leaves. This is adder's hiss, which can induce horrible hallucinations and vomiting in someone if they eat it. Where did you find it?"

"A flower stand on the walk up," Cullen felt a stir of anger rising through him from his failure. He wanted to get something nice, and instead he brought her poison.

"Interesting," Lana glanced towards the Divine.

"Do you remember which one is dealing in potential poisoning? I'll have my...clerics look into it," Leliana spoke up, her shrewd eyes slipping over him.

Cullen was about to tell her, hopeful at least something would come of his blunder, when Lana interrupted, "I doubt it's anything nefarious. It's a pretty planet, people like that it's shiny. Besides..."

She placed the plant down upon the table, then pointed at a saucer upon the end table behind Cullen. When he picked it up, he was surprised to find it still slightly warm. After harvesting a single leaf off his poison plant, Lana dropped it into the cup and stirred it with a spoon. "You can't accidentally or even purposefully poison anyone with adder's hiss because..." as she finished stirring, she yanked out the spoon to reveal tendrils of bright silver leeching off the leaves and disseminating through the tea. It glittered like stars. "It's a dead giveaway almost instantly. I've heard of some remote people in the mountains drinking it as part of a ritual to honor their ancestors, but I wouldn't risk it."

Unable to wipe away the excitement in her eyes from sharing a new fact, Lana placed the cup down on the table and turned back to them. "It's rather interesting that its natural silver shine can be transmuted so easily. I'm not certain if..." her words trailed off and she paused. "Sorry," she mumbled to herself, and then in an aside over her shoulder whipped off, "No Jowan, I have no memories for you."

Cullen and Leliana both stared at her as Lana paused in messing with the plant's leaves. Her lips opened and she twitched her nose while a blush burned over her cheeks. "I didn't mean, I, it was a habit in the fade, when...and the spirits to combat, I..." She turned in on herself, her arms wrapping around her chest in a one sided hug. Despite feeling worthless from bringing in adder's hiss, Cullen slid an arm around Lana and pulled her close to him. She didn't release her grip upon herself, only leaned against his chest while he brushed his lips against the top of her head.

"Silver tea. That would explain why I so rarely hear reports of adder's hiss poisoning," Leliana commented after a time, not drawing any attention to Lana's outburst and only focusing on the effect the potential poison would have on anyone immediately at risk. "I'm sorry to say, I need to return to the chantry before anything of importance occurs. Lanny, think upon what we spoke of."

"I..." she bobbed her head and the dread washed away. A quirky smile turned up Lana's lips. "I'm not a child, you don't need to remind me to finish my spells before dinner."

"Forgive me, I fear the cowl has turned me into Wynne," Leliana laughed. Tipping her head, she said a crisp, "Commander," before exiting the apartments and leaving them alone.

The shame returned instantly around Lana once the door shut, but Cullen only held her tighter. She released her tight grip on herself and ran her fingers over his arm coated in the filth of the road. "Lana," he whispered into her sheered hair, "you were in there a long time. It's understandable that...parts remain with you."

"I know," she bobbed her listless head and drank down a sigh. "What about you?" The turn of conversation caught Cullen so unawares, his grip slackened and she turned in his arms to look up into his eyes.

"What of me?"

"The lyrium withdrawal and...don't roll your eyes before insisting it's nothing. It is something," her fingers dug into his cheek, keeping him focused on her compassionate eyes.

He did his best to not think about the thirst by focusing on her. She needed him to help her heal, to guide her back to the real world after two years in the fade. If he gave her his all then, then he didn't need to hear the lyrium calling through his veins. "I..." Cullen knew insisting he was fine would only get him in more trouble, "I'm more on edge as of late, though there's a good chance that's simply Orlais itself."

Lana snickered at that, and she folded up into him, her cheek burying into his chest. _Maker, that was what he needed._ Wrapping his arms around her, he drew strength from her embrace. While Lana curled up to him, he felt safe enough to admit the truth. "The thirst is there, stronger than what I've faced in years. And I've noticed more trembling in my hands."

"So, not the time to ask you to repair a miniature clock?"

"Only if you wish it smashed into millions of tiny pieces," he joked, earning him a soft laugh. With eyes shut tight, Cullen pressed his lips to her forehead, giving thanks that he could hear her laugh again, that he could do something to give birth to it.

"You shouldn't push yourself," Lana said, "healing takes time and..."

"Are you going to repeat everything I said to you?" he asked, rising up higher to try and catch her eye, but she was buried too deep into him.

"Let me think, I believe there was something about fighting through the pain and..." she giggled as his fingers swept down her sides finding the sweet spot, "and that...Maker, fine-fine. I give!" She waved her hands from his tickling and he stopped, falling into the joy swept across her face. With both hands, Lana grabbed onto the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss. What started as a sweet peck heated beyond measure as Lana parted her succulent lips and Cullen's tongue slipped in. A moan rattled in the back of her throat, her fingers digging into his curls and pulling him ever deeper into her. Slowly, his hands rose from the curl of her waist upwards, when Lana slipped away from him, a curious quirk to her smile.

He steadied himself from the rush of blood while she placed her head back upon his chest as if nothing happened. It seemed as if they were always surrounded by others, first the king and now the Divine. Whenever there was any alone time, either Lana, himself, or the both of them were exhausted beyond measure. On occasion, Cullen wondered to himself when or if they'd return to beyond a few kisses, but he felt like a cad whenever the idea stirred. She'd been through he couldn't even imagine, the least she deserved was time.

"Tell me," Lana spoke, her voice husky, "why'd you really get the plant? You're not a flowers person."

"Are you?" he asked, feeling uncertain once again.

She chuckled, her nose nudging into her sternum, "No, not particularly."

Trying to bury the shame of his utter failure, Cullen admitted the truth to her, "I was in a foul mood during the walk, from the Orlesians, more or less. And while 'grumping' as you put it, I spotted what I thought were the familiar silver leaves of the plant you pointed out and it lightened my spirits."

"You saw it and thought of me," she said, her cheeks spreading wide while she buried her smile against his filthy tunic.

"I..." he snorted, "Maker, that sounds even more trite when said aloud."

"No," Lana lifted her weary head to gaze up at him. Instinctively, he cradled her cheek in his hand. "I love it. It's a very beautiful plant, and I haven't tried to keep anything alive in awhile." Her eyes slipped closed, those brush thick lashes fanning out over her cheeks. "Thank you, I'll have to keep it up away from Honor."

"Um," he glanced around the room aware of the near goatlike climbing skills his dog possessed, "perhaps if we extend it off the ceiling in the middle of the room."

"She'd be unlikely to eat it if it's hanging from a hook near the window, unless she has access to climbing gear."

"Maker," he shook his head, a full smile properly replacing his bad mood, "I fear she could con some out of a merchant."

"Awe," Lana turned in his grasp to eye up Honor whose stub was wagging from her name being mentioned, "do you have your own secret caches stashed about the city already?" Her hand danced along Honor's ears, digging into the spot behind the left that caused the mabari's tongue to dangle out.

After watching his dog succumb to the machinations of his...Lana, Cullen asked, "What did you and Leliana get up to?"

He got a slow eye roll as she returned to him, "I think Leliana is trying to establish me here for a year or more. Today it was looking presentable with a haircut and ordering clothing."

"Well, we could both use a wash at least," Cullen smiled, but internally a panic grew. Would Lana want to remain in Val Royeaux close to her best friend? Not for a short time of healing but for that mentioned year or more? Could he survive Orlais as long as she wanted?

"Mmm," Lana's hands ran down the scoop of his shoulders, caressing the divots and rise of his arms while a hazy look fell over her eyes. He had no idea what she was thinking as she seemed to be measuring him up with her fingers. Suddenly, her eyes focused and she stared up at him, "Oh, we have yet to check out the bedroom."

"You didn't look?"

"Without you? Never. I fear I'll need backup by the way Leliana failed to describe it." She stepped back slowly, her feet barely lifting off the ground which meant her muscles were tensing up again. Lana only made it through the long trip by flooding herself with magic. While he knew little of the nitty gritty of casting, Cullen could taste a near constant mana in the air around her skin and spotted her often flexing her aching fingers from dipping too much into the veil.

Holding a hand out to him, Lana lifted one shoulder, "Shall we see what terrors await us?"

Cullen took her hand and wrapped it in both of his. "Do you think we'll require Honor?"

Sliding along the floor at a glacial pace, Lana didn't let on to her pain. A mischievous smile was all that graced her features as she placed a hand against the doorknob, the perfectly ordinary looking doorknob. "Honor," she called to their mabari, causing her to rise off the floor, "stand ready." The dog wagged her tail and then froze, waiting for input. Lana lifted her eyes to Cullen and crossed her fingers, "Here we go."

As the door slid open, the light of the sitting room could only glance upon two of the four posts supporting the bed and a crimson rug resting upon the floor. Lana released his hand and he tasted the fade building into the world as she brought a fire to life in the hearth. After blinking away the yellow burn against his eyes Cullen turned to glance at the room and he felt his knees give out.

"Holy Maker," he cursed, covering his mouth with his hand both terrified to look and look away at the same time.

"There's nothing holy about _that_ ," Lana pointed at the bed post that, thanks to the fire bringing out the highlights of the carved wood, he realized was not a twisted bundle of vines as he'd previously thought. "Or that," she pointed at the second post across from it. "Now that's just impossible," she scoffed at the back posts which Cullen realized were joined by another pair of exuberant participants carved into the cross joints.

"At least the mirror doesn't look too...Oh," her voice fell as she scooted close to the grand vanity set along the side wall. Carefully, she picked up the hinged mirror and scooted it up and down. "Is it just me or do the body parts have faces?" she asked flippantly, somehow not unnerved by every facet of sexuality carved and painted surrounding them. Cullen had to be burning to ash from the blush blazing under his skin but Lana seemed to only be slightly curious and mostly amused.

"Ooh, look at the carpet," she twisted her head around, following the outer circle. "It's like an ode to cunnilingus in fiber form. Can you imagine what the meetings of Grand Clerics were like in Innocente's time?"

"I fear I would have to walk into Andraste's holy fire if I did," Cullen answered truthfully.

Lana snickered at his response as if it was a joke. Spinning once in a circle, she plopped down onto the bed, placed her hands on her knees and announced, "I like it."

Cullen's jaw dislocated and hit the floor coated in etchings of various body parts doing things body parts did. "You..." he pinched his eyes up then opened them wide, hoping that would somehow erase the multitude of carnal delight available to people contained in only four walls. "You like it?" _Maker, what did he get himself into?_ A panic gripped onto his stomach and refused to let go at the terror that this was Lana's idea of preferred decorating.

"Yup," she smiled, placing her hands behind her as she leaned back, "it's so horrifyingly atrocious I'll be able to stay awake easily in here."

"Oh sweet Maker," Cullen collapsed in on himself, grateful that she felt the same as him. Then he rose up in response to the end of her sentence, "Lana..."

"I know, I know, but..." she lifted an eyebrow, her lips rising in a sneer, "do you think you could sleep in here?"

"I'm terrified to touch anything at the moment," he admitted. Cullen kept his hands cupped around his elbows just to make certain they didn't come in contact with any of the carvings or other surfaces.

Giggling, Lana patted the bed beside her. He screwed up his courage and shut his eyes in order to risk sitting down. Slowly, he lowered his back half towards the blanket stretched upon the mattress, hoping he could hover above it without touching anything. Just as he was about to adjust his knees, Lana wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him onto the bed. In shock, Cullen tumbled downward, first ass and then the rest of him until his back was fully coddled by the mattress. He blinked, staring up at the ceiling that bore a surprisingly beautiful painting of Andraste's life done in pastel oils.

Then Lana's face hovered above his and she smiled wide. "It's comfortable, isn't it?"

Cullen nodded and he rose up to a sitting position, "Say what you want about the...peculiarities of the Divines, but they certainly enjoy their comfort."

"And I thought Leliana would be out of place among them," Lana snorted, "shows what I know."

"I really do not wish to hear why," Cullen said, pinching his nose. It'd been a trying day and somehow it managed to keep getting more surreal with every opened door. He began to push his fingers into his closed eyelids, when he felt a hand curl around the back of his neck. Agile fingers dug into the knots, trying to loosen away the headache. It wasn't until he took a deep breath that he felt the gentle kiss of magic floating under his skin. She was subtle with it, only offering a quick sip of her balm when he'd fall under great strain.

As the pain lessened, Cullen reached over and grabbed onto her hand. Lana's eyes darted up, the edge of concern cresting through her beautiful face, but he didn't admonish her or try to cast away her helping hands. Instead, he smiled and whispered, "Thank you."

"I love you," she sputtered out. "I, uh, wanted to say it before when Leliana was here but, she can be a bit overprotective."

"You do not say," Cullen sighed, wishing he had his own backup out here beyond the dog who adored everyone she met.

Lana ran her fingers down his thigh, her thumb playing with the hole above his knee. "I meant it," her eyes snapped up at him, conviction swirling through her elegant browns, "I love you. And, I want what we have to work, to really work and be something."

 _By all that was good in thedas, he loved her._ It wore at his nerves traveling with the King, of that there was no doubt, and while he had his reservations about finding Lana and ever holding her again, he knew with every fiber of his soul that she had his heart. She always would. As his hand cupped her cheek, Lana pressed her own against it, holding him tighter to her skin.

"I'm leaving the Inquisition."

"What?" Lana started, rising up.

"I..." He hadn't meant to say the words aloud, they slipped free while he watched her give him her own heart. He'd been thinking them often of late in the back of his mind, the question dogging his every step. Even before setting out to find her he wondered if he would return to Skyhold. Now, with Lana beside him, he couldn't imagine being anywhere else but wrapped in her arms.

Dipping his head down, Cullen's forehead skimmed against hers, "I gave the Inquisition my arm for three years. It was to be my redemption and, perhaps it's bold of me, but I think I've finally earned it."

"Cullen," her cool touch followed his cheek and down the scruff while she closed her eyes, "I don't want to, to come between you and... It was your cause."

"And now it's over," he stared into her eyes that looked uncertain, but for who?

"If I weren't here, if...if we'd never been," she waved between them, then her eyes darted up to the bedpost carving and she pointed at that instead. "Would you want to leave the Inquisition?"

He pulled her wandering hands into his and rested them both in her lap. "Lana, you are here. I want you here, more than anything I've ever... I gave the Inquisition three years of my life, I think it's your turn now. I love you."

Her perturbed frown blossomed into a heart warming smile and she swallowed, "All right then. I suppose the next question is how does one leave the Inquisition?"

Cullen wrapped his arm around her shoulders and carefully pulled both of them back upon the bed until they lay side by side, his hands cradling her. "That will require a lot of letters."

 

* * *

 

 

Only a flicker of light managed off the hearth, which made reading the words in her book a challenge. But Lana wasn't about to lift it higher for fear of waking the man sleeping beside her. It'd been a long day as she watched him draw up lists upon lists of what'd be required to extricate himself from the Inquisition. She tried to offer suggestions, but while he was always elbows deep into running the entire army, the most she ever had to worry about were fifty or so wardens. The seneschal handled every other minor problem at the Vigil and across the Arling. While a few of the little affairs could be managed by letters sent to Skyhold, Cullen calculated that he'd need two, perhaps three weeks to fully transfer power over.

Throughout the day, he jotted down outlines to his lieutenants and the others in power across thedas he kept in communique with, while Lana prodded into a book she kept failing to read. She was grateful, beyond grateful to think that he'd want to stay by her side, but a fact dangled over her head like a scythe about to slice away the chaff. Leliana was right, the Hero of Ferelden had to stay dead. It was Lana's only hope to remain free of anyone that would look to her for either support or revenge. Which meant she could never return to Skyhold. While she trusted the Inquisitor to keep the secret, there were far too many people who recognized her, knew her as the Hero and were there when she fell. Her secret would die the moment she stepped foot upon the mountain.

Lana was certain that she'd never be able to return, her biggest concern was how she'd explain it to Cullen. Three weeks apart was little in the scheme of things, and yet...

Her finger hovered over the page, tracing a sentence on transmutation of runes that she failed to read. After both of them savored another hearty meal and bathed separately, Cullen suggested she take the bed while he sleep on the divan. It was, after all, far more comfy and didn't have such a particular decor theme haunting him. She was more than willing to let his chivalry cover over for the abject terror of the room, but as he slid out to the door and Lana faced a night of walking in the fade, her heart thundered in her chest. It'd beaten so fast, she grew dizzy and gasped for air. Her hand dug into the duvet for strength, when Cullen's wrapped around hers. Without saying a word about her panic attack, he slid under the covers and held her until she fell asleep.

Maker, she needed to get better. He couldn't keep doing that, night in and night out playing her comforting blanket and defender. It'd wear him raw. Lana lasted a few hours in the fade before either her body revolted at the idea or her mind did and she fully woke. Beside her, Cullen slumbered, his head tossed back against the pillow mercifully not shaped like any male anatomy. She watched his curls spilling off the side as he rolled around, struggling to find a comfy spot. Lana knew the feeling well. After two years in the fade, laying on the mattress was like falling into a cloud. A part of her yearned to stretch out upon the floor, the real floor that wouldn't transform into grass or ancient ruins when she wasn't looking. But she didn't want to leave him.

Without any other options, Lana snatched up one of the books piled upon the nightstand and began to read. It wasn't the most enlightening of books, the theories having been disproven years ago, but it was interesting at times to follow the old paths of spells and what they later branched off into. On occasion, a new discovery could be made from the old bones. Her fingers darted down the spine, doing exactly what the librarians ordered her not to as she dug into it. What was she going to do with her life? No wardens, no mages, no orders...it was both exhilarating and terrifying to face an unending abyss.

A snort drew her attention and she turned to find Cullen thrown upon his back. She expected to catch him snoring, but a sneer knotted up his features and his hands began to paw at the air. At first only growls and groans erupted from him, but they became words as the nightmare dug in deeper.

"You will not delve into...no, please no. Don't touch it! I will not allow you to...Begone! Please," his cries faded to a whimper and his fingers dug into the mattress as if he was clinging to someone's shoulders, "please let me be."

Lana picked up one of his hands, the nails biting into her skin but she didn't yelp at it, only locked her own fingers around his. Caressing her hand down his cheek, she whispered, "It's okay, Cullen. You're safe. You're here with me. I promise. I'll keep watch over you."

The sneer deepened and she felt him falling further into the lyrium withdrawals. He'd often smack his lips to compensate for the dry mouth festering on his tongue. Lana tried to keep a carafe of water around, but despite Cullen refilling his glass often something told her it didn't help. She moved to grab it upoff the night stand but Cullen reached out, his clawing fingers digging into her. "Don't leave me," he whimpered in his sleep. Freezing in place, Lana tipped her head back to catch a slither of tears in her eyes from the pleading in his voice.

With their hands locked in place, Lana eased down back into bed. She curled her body around his, her head resting upon his shoulder. Perhaps it was the warmth or the pressure, but Cullen calmed, his tense muscles slacking. Even the sneer faded back to the sweet man she knew. "I have you," she whispered into his ear, "and I'll never leave. I promise."


	3. Letters

 

To: The Beautiful Woman Stuck Traveling with Commander Sullen

C/O Divine Victoria, who's probably already read this anyway, so why bother sealing it?

 

> Lanny! I hope you made it to Val Royeaux and filled Leliana in on the details or I'm going to be getting a flock of ravens and the potential for an Exalted March showing up on my doorstep because of this letter. Not that it's beyond the realm of surprises from our bard given the big hat considering what happened in Seheron and then... I hope the Divine in all her mercy is aware that invading Ferelden isn't wise because we've got big slobbery dog that'll ruin all your fancy furniture. Just putting that out there.
> 
> How are you? Please tell me you've already eaten your way through the never ending banquets of the Grand Cathedral and have now raided Celene's cheese room. I hear it's guarded by a Gouda Golem, very dangerous and messy unless you come armed with a slab of crackers.
> 
> After my return, I only got berated for fifteen hours by Arl Eamon, Teagan, Bann Cyril, and then Eamon again for good measure. All things considered, I'd say I came out ahead in that. I thought it'd last for a few days. It wasn't as if I missed much of anything. Let's see, there's talk of food shortage because there's always talk of food shortage. Don't bother to clear out the brambles crowding around the roads? That's how we get bandits. It's so damn simple you'd think someone here would remember to do it. And there's been a bit of fallout from the Exalted Council, a few Banns think we're in some position to go declare war on the Qunari (right, shall we throw sticks at them and ask nicely if they give up? It'd work about as well). As if that's not enough, people are not happy about the Inquisition getting busted down to chantry guardians. On one side are those who have hearts in their eyes for the old Inky and on the other are people pissed that the chantry's gained that much power. Can't say I blame them given their handling of the mage rebellions and how they spectacularly failed their templars, but all I get is headaches on both sides as people argue without offering any solutions.
> 
> So, that's been my week so far. What about you? Let me guess, you've dumped the templar, fully healed, convinced Leliana to abandon the chantry to run off with you, and together you're now famed assassins in Antiva. Any of that close? Oh right, I almost forgot, on top of the tongue lashing from Eamon I got one from our most illustrious Queen Bea (she hates it when I call her that). Now that one damn near blew my muddy socks off. I no more than crawl through the door reeking of horse and she flounces over looking like she was trying to smuggle a helmet under her dress, jabs a finger in my face, and demands to know where I've been.
> 
> I was so impressed with her fortitude, I broke out into laughter and hugged her. Didn't realize the Queen could blush like that, then again I've been operating on the assumption she's actually some kind of animated wet blanket for a few years. We've been talking beyond the usual "Hi," "Hello," "Please stop doing that." Baby stuff is okay, as much as it can be. Ah yeah, consider this the official announcement to Val Royeaux that there's gonna be a little sire for a tiny throne. We can do that, right? Make a miniature version of the throne for the kid to sit on? I'll ask Wade about it, I'm sure he can whip something up out of dragon's teeth.
> 
> You wanna know something funny? I actually met the real father of whatever's knocking about in Bea's stomach. Total accident, I had no idea who it was. Random meet and greet, shaking hands with a total stranger, and the poor guy was quivering in his boots, melting into the floor in a panic. I remembered his strange reaction after learning the truth because it made no sense, I'd bathed that day. Okay, that's not the best part. You're never gonna guess what he is...
> 
> I'll pretend you threw out some ideas. He's a brother in the chantry. Or was a brother. Turns out when you knock up a Queen it's a good time to turn in your tonsure and take up a cushy job as royal baby baker. Maker, how did that one happen? Sweet, boring Beatrice down on her knees in the confession booth with the Brother while a few Mothers politely tried to not listen in? That's not the chantry I remember, but I wish it was. Bea wasn't excited about the idea of us meeting after I learned the full of it. No idea why, the guy's not bad, as exciting as grey paint splattered over stone walls, but he seems genuine and they get on without talk of poison and someone faking their own death. In the great game of king and queen checkers it's probably the best outcome.
> 
> Tell me you're okay. That you're happy, please. I know, look at that Alistair being selfish again. Someone warn the criers, it's never been seen before. I worry about leaving you alone. Fine, I know you're not alone-alone, but I remember what it's like being trapped in a bed for weeks without anything to do but try to throw darts through a window. And you don't have a cast to drive you mad and busy with itching. If your templar's being all stoic warrior on you, stiff upper lip and what not, you can complain to me. Or at me. I've had enough of that I'm pretty much immune.
> 
> I made certain that any letters from you will be sent directly to me, no clerks reading over my shoulder and pronouncing the big words for me. There hasn't been any word yet of a miracle of Andraste returning the Hero of Ferelden back to us, so I'm guessing you're still not ready yet to give your big debut. Don't worry about me, I can keep a secret.
> 
> Sort of keep a secret.
> 
> If it'll in anyway hurt you, I'll never tell. Ever. Cross my heart and hope for pie.
> 
> This is probably long enough for a first message. I have a good four or five page letter filled with all my deepest thoughts and darkest hopes but I don't want to bore you with the details. Here's a hint, rain; both cleansing and sorrowful. Really makes you think, I know.
> 
> Heal, smile, even - Maker help me - love that stick in the mud, if you must. Be happy, and for the love of Andraste, send me an update on that Dowager before I break down and hunt out a copy of the book for myself.

 

His Irrelevancy,

_King Alistair of You Know Where_

 

* * *

 

To Ali,

C/O Her Most Entrusted Letter Carrier of Divine Victoria

 

> By the Maker, how did you get a letter off so quickly? We'd only been in Val Royeaux for a week before it appeared. Don't tell me you have access to your own Eluvian because the last thing Ferelden needs is another parade of demons leaping across it. Life has taken some adjusting. You'll be happy to know I had nearly an entire pie all by myself. It was a bit of an accident on my part as I'd only meant for a slice when that taint hunger kicked in and before I knew it oops, all gone. Walking is difficult and I can, at best, carry perhaps five pounds. Most of my time is spent sliding from one section of the apartment to another grumbling about the cold.
> 
> I should tell you about the apartments. Leliana has us in one of the guest wings of the Grand Cathedral, a fact that I can tell wears upon Cullen even if he won't admit it. Nearly every speck of the place is gilded or bejeweled and what isn't is made out of marble or silk. It feels as if I fell inside of a ballgown and can't escape. A few curious Mothers have tried to prod in to see what's going on inside here behind locked doors, but Leliana keeps shooing them away. The chantry's clerics are growing weary with how much time the Divine spends with me, all but breaking down the door after her scheduled hours are finished to whisk her away.
> 
> I never thought life would feel strange outside of the fade, but I keep catching myself at an impasse. Often, I'll speak to the spirits as if they're remaining beside me, curt dismissals that were subconscious before. I feel foolish whenever one slips past my lips, aware that they're not here, but I'm still wrapped up in the past. My mind is all wound up like used wire poorly re-spooled. Sleeping is difficult, and a few nights I've forgone the bed to lay upon the floor. Once I even left wards, which Cullen woke to find scattered across the apartment. I didn't even remember doing it, my mind always falling back to that place if I don't keep a constant vigil. I nearly wrote down that I should not complain, but you did ask for the full of it. You reap what you sow, I suppose.
> 
> After speaking with Leliana, I've decided that the Hero of Ferelden should remain dead. I'm not in any shape to run head first back into the politics of wardens much less the mage dilemma that's been cooled but could boil over at any moment. And if either group received word of my resurgence well, it'd be right back to the grindstone and damn the consequences. There are few I will trust with this secret. You -- obviously -- Leliana, Cullen, Hawke's been made aware to try and negate some of her guilt. I don't believe anyone else knows for now, but for the sake of discretion keeping the list small is preferable to... Why am I trying to talk you into this? If you haven't told Eamon and the rest by now you're not going to.
> 
> I'm not used to this freedom, waking every morning without an itinerary or goal. I'd been in the hands of the circle since I was six, every hour of my day planned out through apprenticehood. It wasn't until after the harrowing I'd have been free to set my schedule and, well, we all know how that one went. If you had no one to answer to, no one questioning your every decision, no weight of the world or Ferelden hanging upon you, what would you do?
> 
> I suppose I should send this off before you blanket me in letters demanding a follow up. Enclosed is the next plot advance in the story. I've tried to summarize it as best I could, but you really should think about picking the book up. My fumbling can't do the descriptive prose justice.
> 
>  

No One Of Any Importance,

_Lana A-_

 

* * *

 

To: The Secretive Creature Living in the Grand Cathedral's Bell Tower

C/O This Raven That Managed to Shit All Over My Breakfast Plate & Is Lucky We Didn't Fry It Up

 

> Read through the synopsis. Shocked that she'd risk her title for someone who'd do that to a pig, but that's authors for you. If they can't stretch the plot thin with action cul-de-sacs, needless characters repeating stuff that happened chapters back, and breadcrumbs they'll stab a few dozen people, set a village on fire, and call it realism. Waiting patiently for the next set.
> 
> Things are happening here to keep me busy, nothing for you to worry about, only headache inducing for me. Huzzah, what not and so forth. I'll write you a longer letter next time. Super promise pinkie swear.
> 
> To answer your last question, first I'd have sex, eat a dessert in every single bakery across Val Royeaux, take a long nap, then sex again. Hope that helps.

 

None of the Help, All of the Mess,

_Ali_


	4. Unspoken Fear

Fire burst from a woman's fingers, tendrils of flames sparking over the heads of people who -- instead of cowering or retaliating -- clapped appreciatively. Smiling, the woman dressed in a glittery red and orange dress with provocative cuts in all the right places, took a bow. Lana shifted over to Leliana and sniffed, "Am I to be impressed? I was doing that when I was ten. Not usually on purpose mind, but..."

Leliana brought her hands together harder to try and make up for Lana's lack of clapping. "The dancers here rarely use a mage and have to rely upon more practical effects. I watched someone saw a man in half."

"You don't need a mage to do that," Lana folded her arms, still unimpressed.

"The man remained unharmed," Leliana's crystal eyes sparkled under her drawn hood. While the incognito Divine pulled out her old spy gear, for the first time Lana wore the dress she selected hot off the seamstress' loom. It was beyond simple in a soft sky blue, with an A-line skirt and a bodice left loose for her hopeful weight regain. She insisted the pockets be deepened by another inch. Even if she was hiding her being a mage she still liked to carry things around. The only hint of a softer side to the one wearing it was trim skirting over the daring sweetheart cut. White lace rested against her sienna skin, just enough to hinder the view of her ample assets.

"What's the point of sawing someone in half if they aren't hurt?" she said, but her jibbing tone slipped away as she fumbled for the wine glass Leliana kept refilling. They started with a biting red, astringent to match their platter of cold meats, then moved on to a slightly sweeter red, then a white, and now they were mixing every remaining bottle together to see if they could discover something new.

"This is why you'd never make it as a bard," Leliana said. She slipped a delicate hand over her chin while watching a young woman step up to the stage armed only with a lute. It seemed doubtful the singer planned to set anyone on fire. "You don't understand the importance of spectacle."

"I can shoot ice and lightning from my hands. How is that not spectacle?" Lana responded, perhaps a bit too loudly as a few eyes swiveled back towards them.

Despite the winter night, she only wore a thin cloak for cover which was currently wound about her chair. The drink covered over any chill she felt, its alcoholic spell enveloping her in a warm hug. Admittedly, when Leliana first suggested a jaunt out of the Cathedral to get away from the same four walls, Lana assumed they'd head somewhere indoors. But as she gazed around at the crackling fires beating against the press of night while stars speckled through the sky, she began to understand her friend's choice. And the wine helped with that as well.

"Perhaps we should pause for a moment," Leliana's calculating eyes no doubt noticed Lana's glissando in pitch, "imbibe a few more crackers instead." Leliana waved at a garçon who panicked from her attention and scurried over. He seemed to be the only one at the establishment aware of who lurked below the hood. All the other patrons only cast a curious glance over their attire and lack of masks before turning back to the entertainment.

Lana regretfully slid her glass away before accepting a few crackers and sending them down to check on the rest of her dinner. It'd grown quiet lately in her stomach and she was getting concerned. Leliana had extended the offer to join them to Cullen, but he said that he had much yet to do and thanked her for thinking of him. At first Lana wished he'd come, but after an hour out of the apartments she was grateful for his choice. They both needed space and by the Maker did she miss getting into trouble with her old friend. The kind of trouble her stoic templar would grumble himself to death over.

Bobbing her head, Lana tried to follow the beat, when she spun fully around in her chair and gawped at the singer. While the girl couldn't be more than fifteen at most, her voice was strong and bursting through her chest instead of the nose. It wasn't the power that drew Lana but the words. "Did she just mention Cullen?"

"Ah, yes, there are a few songs in popular rotation about the Inquisition and those who served in it."

"'Stout and bright?'" Lana repeated before giggling, "He must hate that."

Leliana placed her hands over top her own glass and smirked, "I rather doubt that's the song that would bother him." Lana narrowed her eyes but Leliana only delicately tipped her glass into her mouth, her eyes closed as she savored her drink.

"Oh no, you can't release that bronto and not follow up on it. What song?"

"It's," she swirled her glass, "a rather delicate number. Relies upon the minor key, which seems strange for a...I suppose it's not entirely a love song."

"Wait, a love song? About Cullen?" She knew he had more than his fair share of attention at the ball, but to think someone was so smitten she took the time to pen a song... Or he'd broken the heart of an admirer to the point of rending a song free; the question was did that happen with or without his knowledge.

Leliana swallowed another sip and shook her head at the concern clawing up Lana's face. "It's very metaphorical, more than likely he isn't even aware it's about him. I'll send you the lyrics sometime."

Nodding her head, she planned to hold Leliana to that promise. Taking a drink of the mead on offer, then curling her nose as she remembered she hated mead, Lana sighed, "I hated all the songs about me. Okay, not that upbeat one that was all about crossing a bridge for some reason."

"That was a metaphor for death and the blight itself ravaging the world."

"Really?" Lana pinched her forehead in her hands, trying to dig up the lyrics she'd only heard a few times. For some reason bards tended to stop singing about the Hero of Ferelden the moment she stepped into a room. She'd only heard the ones penned about her second hand or from within the Vigil as she skulked around the corner. "But it was all happy and bouncy, with everyone dancing?"

"Joy in the face of disaster, a common theme in folk songs. The bridge was the blight and death waited at the end."

"Ah. I always wondered why I cut the ropes on this mythical bridge. I thought it was a commentary on how much collateral damage I caused."

Leliana snickered so hard at that, a spittle of red wine splattered against the table. After wiping off her mouth she nodded her head, "You were excellent at that, no doubt."

The Blight, her great time to shine and rise to glory, like other heroes out of myths and legends. Lana gazed down at the cane given to her by Leliana who swore it never belonged to any other Divines. She'd never be that person who killed an archdemon ever again. The others would shake their heads at her assessment when walking grew to being too much, but Lana knew in her gut that this was something she wasn't coming back from whole cloth. She wondered when the reality would finally settle in that this was her new lot and what kind of damage it would do. Perhaps she'd luck out and the darkness would pass her by for once. Maker, that'd be nice.

Coughing, Leliana poured another round of '1 part Sherry to 3 parts Merlot and whatever's left of the Gin' into Lana's glass. "Do you remember what we did right after the archdemon fell? You walked off that tower with the sun setting behind you like an angelic aura, the dragon's blood glistening in flaming fire, and everyone broke into applause."

"Right, pause, smile, wave, and then we grabbed the first bottle we could find and scampered off to let Alistair deal with the rest," Lana laughed, trying out the new mix. Her tastebuds curled inward, doing their damnedest to avoid what she washed down them, but her brain could only offer up an 'It's all right.' Yep, way too much drink for the day.

Leliana joined in the remembrance laughter before clinking her glass with Lana's. "Both of us coated in ichor, so exhausted we could barely move and so ecstatic we couldn't sleep."

"Drunk off our asses clinging to the roof of some shop that managed to miss nearly all the attack watching the sun set together." She started out smiling but a frown invaded Lana's memory. It'd seemed a simple victory at the time. They'd won. The monster was destroyed, the world saved. They deserved it. She had no way of knowing the storms lurking on the horizon.

Seeming to share the same thought, Leliana stared into her glass but didn't drink any. Instead, she inched closer, "We spoke of many things that night. Foolish, simple things and others...not as such. Lanny, I asked you something, something I hoped you'd been truthful about, but..."

Sobriety raced through Lana's veins at the look pinching together Leliana's porcelain forehead. She sat up higher, dragging her chair closer to the table and her friend. "I can't, what was it?"

"You were smarting, you wouldn't admit it to anyone in the face of the blight, I know, but I was worried for you," Leliana's pale hand grabbed hers and the answer flooded back to Lana. Cursing under her breath, she turned her head away, unable to look at Leliana. "I asked if you loved Alistair, and you said you didn't. That you were over him."

"Leliana, I'm...I thought I was, convinced myself that I could shut it off as easily as he did," Lana snorted as she realized that in fact she could, which was to say not at all for either of them. "But, you're right, I hadn't moved on past the anger, and the hurt, and, yes, the love for awhile. A few years at least."

"What of Seheron then?"

"I knew it," Lana leaned back, yanking her hand free, "I knew eventually, somehow you'd get around to chastising me for that. Shit, it's probably why the fade didn't kill me. The Maker moved a mountain so Leliana could look me in the eye, shake her head and sigh 'why'd you take up with him again?'"

Leliana thrummed her fingers on the table a few times before glancing up, "Are you finished?"

"No, but you know the rest, so why keep going."

"Lanny, it's a damn good question, one you need to ask yourself given mitigating circumstances..."

"' _Mitigating circumstances_?' You can say his name. I know it, you know it. Why in the void didn't you call me out on this back at Skyhold?" she asked while folding her arms tight as she felt the wintery air slipping through her alcoholic cocoon.

"Because you were in pain," her stark words struck at Lana, her grumbling hands falling slack. "You found comfort, it was understandable in the trying times, and it could easily be replaced by something else later should the need arise. But now..."

Pain was an understatement. She ran from it across all of thedas, through the deeproads itself and right into Cullen's arms. Never pausing, never grieving for all that she'd lost because she feared she'd never come back from it. But trapped in the fade, with a regret spirit clinging to her like a leech, grieving was all she had. It felt as if for the first year, when she wasn't slaying demons or slaughtering spiders for food, she was crying a million held back tears, the dam finally breaking free.

"Lanny," Leliana pulled her attention from out of her navel, "do you, and please be honest, do you love Alistair? No, don't scoff, don't roll your eyes. You've had to have thought about this."

"Yes, I have thought about it. Weighed it out and...no, I don't, not romantically. I, I'm not certain if I really did when I joined him to find his father. We were lonely, both of us needing something to cling to, someone to make the darkness go away for awhile. He's, he's always been a good friend." Lana paused and snickered at that thought, "A surprisingly good friend and a so wrong lover."

"And when he helped to rescue you from the fade, you felt nothing for him?"

"What?" she scoffed at that, rolling her eyes. "Leliana, give me some credit. I'm not a protagonist in one of those folk songs. It takes a bit more than rousing me from my two year long slumber to weasel back into my heart."

"So, your relationship with Cullen is..."

"I, I love him," Lana winced at the confession. It was the first time she'd told anyone other than him, but Leliana didn't lift her eyebrows in shock, she didn't even pause in reaching for her drink.

At Lana's stare, she did throw out a cursory, "I was aware," before taking a long swig. "In fact, it seemed rather obvious at Skyhold."

"I, but...I only arrived at that conclusion while, a few months ago in the fade after I'd had my brain shredded apart by demons and...you knew? The whole damn time?"

Leliana flinched at her mentioning demons, but she chuckled at Lana now and patted her hand affectionately, "You tend to wear your heart in your face and when someone has it, it's as if the Maker's shone a light just upon you."

"Oh," she had no response to that, but Lana felt an urge to slap a mask over herself to try and hide something so obvious to everyone else but herself.

"What are the Commander's thoughts on Alistair?"

"He'll grumble a lot, maybe snort if he's in a mood, but holds his tongue from any of the good curse words. A 'Maker, I...' or 'That man's a total...' That's about it."

Leliana lifted an eyebrow and shook her head, her hood slipping lower, "I meant about you keeping a friendship with the king."

"What, you think Cullen's the type to go around making demands about who I can and cannot befriend? He hasn't said a word against it. And before you raise your judgmental finger at me, yes, he knows I don't love Alistair and that it's dead, done, never again. We did all travel together for a few weeks which was long, and exhausting."

"Too many men in one place can have that effect," Leliana said, her sage words deserving of another drink.

"I get it, okay. It's all complicated and my history isn't easy on anyone, but Cullen's not anyone. He's..." she folded her hands as if in prayer and pressed them to her lips. He'd hold her all night if she needed it, trek through a storm to get her a single supply she wanted, and looked at her as if he'd never seen another woman before. Blinking from the thought, Lana returned to reality and said instead, "special. He's special."

Leliana lifted her glass in a toast and Lana obliged her. "To the _special_ commander," Leliana smirked before taking a long drink.

Lana glared at her, "You're the worst," before she broke into a soft laugh of her own at the sneer that special would have gotten from him.

"So," Leliana picked up the last bottle and dolled it out, "tell me all about your trip with him into the deeproads, and I want details. Exact details."

* * *

 

 After Leliana suggested they try nailing someone's small clothes to the chantry board, Lana knew it was time to turn in. They'd switched to watered down wine in the interim, while their topics of conversation mercifully broke away from her love life to less interesting subjects such as the current Grand Clerics giving the beloved Divine a headache. Whenever Leliana's eyes glazed over and her impish smile returned, Lana would steer her right back into political matters. It seemed about the only way she could hope to save face and keep her tongue from answering Leliana's far too personal questions.

The Divine helped her friend up the winding stairs that Lana was coming to despise the few times she risked venturing down them. Baring her weight without question, Leliana took most of it while her cane handled the rest. Out of sight of the other patrons and citizens of Val Royeaux, Lana curled magic around her legs to try and strengthen them but in either her inebriated state or the rising exhaustion it barely took. At least the drink wiped some of the pain away.

"Why are there so many blighted stairs in this place?" Lana cursed.

"To be closer to the Maker," Leliana answered with such conviction Lana paused and turned to her.

"You can't be serious."

"Of course not," Leliana laughed. "One Divine needed to prove she was better than a previous, so she'd build a grander floor above the last. Repeat that enough times and it's a wonder the Grand Cathedral doesn't butt up against the edge of the sky." Lana snickered at the simplicity of it. Even when answering a higher calling some matters of human nature never changed. She spotted the door to her apartment up ahead, and began to shift her weight to the cane.

"Your Most Holy!"

Both Leliana and Lana groaned at the toady voice lilting frombehind them. Releasing her grip fully on Lana, Leliana turned to face whoever it was while Lana balanced her weight. Over her shoulder she caught sight of a young face buried beneath a chantry hood and she was surprised to find it was male. Leliana seemed neither impressed nor shocked at the turn of events, only folded her arms and waited.

"It is good to see your return after some time away," the man gasped for breath as if he spotted the pair of them from clear across the cathedral and ran the full way up the stairs to catch them. "We were growing concerned that perhaps guards should have been sent..."

"I can handle myself," Leliana interrupted. "This is Val Royeaux not the reckless Kokari wilds." Shaking out her red hair from under the hood, Leliana ran her fingers through it and sighed, "If you will give me a moment I would like to..."

"There is a matter that requires your attention," the man interrupted, then tacked on a, "Your Perfection."

"A matter, at this late hour?" she groaned again, before turning to Lana.

Unable to slide the smile off her face, Lana shrugged, "Sounds as if you best be getting to it."

"What of...?"

"I think I can manage the five feet to my door on my own," Lana leaned her uncooperative body forward and gripped onto her friend's hand, "Thank you for the dinner. It was a good time."

Leliana's smile brightened and she bowed her head slightly, "It was, and I shall be certain to think of a repeat." The Divine turned to her toady to wave him on but not before he shot a judgmental look Lana's way. While Leliana and the underling crossed back down the stairs, confusion wrapped around Lana's brain at the near on glare she received. Why would anyone care if... _oh._ She snickered behind her hands as she limped towards the door. Jealousy was bound to occur, especially with all the attention the Divine seemed to be heaping upon a no one out of the cold, but, Maker, that was hilarious to consider.

She pushed open the door to find the lights across the foyer dimmed nearly beyond sight. Only a gentle flicker of firelight undulated from the hearth beyond. The rest of the apartment was bathed in a comforting indigo wash.It struck her as unlikely that Cullen would be out; he could while away the early hours of the morning wandering the streets for Honor's sake but she found it hard to believe he'd step foot away from his desk once the sun set. Lana slid into the darkened room softly and spotted Honor asleep on the divan she wasn't supposed to be on. With the natural dog sense to always know when someone moves in a room, her eyes opened and she lifted her head up -- prepared to acquiesce to the rules of the house -- but Lana waved her hand. She didn't have the heart to chase the dog away. Honor's stub rapped against the cushions thrice before her head plummeted down and she fell back to sleep.

If the dog was here, so was Cullen. Perhaps asleep? He'd been rather flustered and irritated during the day as he chased down a few different messengers all baring varying instructions that kept getting mired in bureaucratic confusion. Sleep would probably do him good.

Lana slid her cloak off her shoulders and draped it upon the breakfast table. She knew there was a hook somewhere, but in the dim light any attempts would wind up with it splayed on the floor and no hope for her to pick it back up. Placing down her cane as softly as she could, she inched towards the bedroom. Her hand spread across the door, and she moved to push it open, when a guttural groan emerged from the back room serving as their standing office. "Cul..." Lana began before falling silent. If it was him, she had nothing to worry. If it wasn't, why give the trespasser ample warning?

Threading apart the veil, Lana wrapped her body in a barrier for protection as she eased down the narrow hall. It'd been too long since she'd cast such a spell, at least outside of her mind's trap inside the fade. The mana hissed from her fumbling attempts and burned across her fingers like acid. She had been casting too much lately, tomorrow would have to be a break from it all. Tonight, well, there may be an intruder to freeze solid.

Lana flattened against the wall when another groan echoed from the small office. Lifting up an ice spell around her fist, she twisted silently into the office and her body froze. Cullen sat in the chair behind the desk, his eyes screwed up tight and those golden curls tossed back, while his hand jerked up and down in his lap. By the barely existent light, Lana couldn't see much of anything, but her imagination raced to fill in the rest -- his strong fingers wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down slowly at first while he moaned from the connate pleasure rippling through him. She wrapped her hand over her mouth to keep from making a sound. One part of her brain screamed at her to get out but the rest was driven by a deadly combination of lust and curiosity. This was a far more enticing scene than she'd have thought imaginable.

He groaned again, a few intelligible words slipping past, and even with her mouth crammed around her fist, Lana answered it in kind. Cullen's eyes snapped open, his body locking up as his head snapped right to the woman staring at him in the doorway. "Maker's breath, I..." he curled over, his forehead almost smacking into the desk, to try and cover himself with his hands and chest. "Lana, I didn't hear, and I was, oh Maker."

"No, no," she waved her hands in the air so rapidly a nail slicked across her cheek by mistake, "it's my fault. I'd never, sorry, and..." The burn churned up her legs, down her arms, bloomed upon her cheeks, and then all of it landed right in her gut. _Andraste's ass, how could she do that?_ Embarrassment flooded her brain and took over control of her body. Instinctively, she tried to spin on her heels and move out of the room, but that was a massive mistake. Her foot failed to spin with the rest of her, sending pain roaring up her hip and down her thigh as if someone grabbed her entire leg and yanked it out of the joint. Groaning from the agony and her own idiotic move, Lana sank to the floor, the cane clattering out of her hands.

"Lana," Cullen hitched up his pants with one hand and tried to grab onto her elbow with the other. But there was no stopping her now, and she rolled so her ass would hit the floor instead of her hip. "Are you okay? Where does it hurt?"

"Hip, leg, misjudged the turn and...Maker's breath, that's bad, that's really bad," she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to dig her hands into her hip to alleviate the pain. Cullen watched for a moment before he bent down and scooped her up into his arms. Hoisting her tight, with both hands cupped under her thigh to lift the offended leg up, he carried her out into the sitting room.

"Honor, off!" he shouted at the dog, who slunk down without looking at him. Grumbling about how the mabari kept casting off his commands to stay off the furniture, Cullen placed Lana down on the divan, her legs stretched out across the cushions. "What do you need from me?"

She bit down on her cheek to fight past the pain and dove through the veil to impart some relief along her screaming joints. Looking like a red spider squashed flat, she could visually see the pain radiating out through the fade. Picking up his hand, she placed it at the center of the invisible mass, "Here, rub this."

Nodding, Cullen sunk to his knees beside the divan and dug his fingers into her hip. Through the thin dress, he kneaded and stretched while Lana wrapped as much of the healing she dare risk into the node and Cullen's fingers spread it across her leg. After a time, the pain began to abate, and Lana threw her head back, gasping for air as if she'd been drowning. He didn't stop his massage until she ran her hand over his and gripped to it.

Without the immediate problem of her trying to snap her own leg off, the embarrassment of before stampeded back into the room warping the very air itself. She could feel the power of his blush burning off his fingers, the radiant heat of it warming her chilled hand. "I'm so sorry, I never should have been...doing that, where you could have--"

"Nonsense," Lana interrupted, trying to rise up from her plummet to the couch. "It was, okay, a bit awkward to walk in on, but..." She ran her fingers across his cheek and tried to get him to look up, but Cullen bored a hole through the floor instead. "It's natural," her fingers circled around his scruff, hoping his blush would break, but Cullen's neck shrunk even lower in on himself. She could almost see the blame floating through his head. Placing her lips closer to him, she whispered, "Honey eyes."

His old nickname from the tower, the one she inadvertently gave him, was enough to draw Cullen to her. Regret wove tight through his eyes and she brushed her fingers back through his hair to try and comb it into place. He shuddered at her touch and gripped onto her wrist to pin her hand in place, "You never should have to, be forced to..."

"Maker's breath, Cullen, you really think that's the first time I've ever stumbled upon that?"

He grimaced, his eyes shut tight as he tried to shake off the shame enveloping him. "From in the circle?"

Lana sighed, "On occasion, but the wardens was worse. Not surprising when you've got a bunch of people facing certain death at every turn. Senses tend to get heightened and...I'd rather they blow off steam than be snapping in anger throughout the deep roads." She tipped her head and whispered in conspiracy, "Living in tents together, it was easy to stumble upon something you didn't want to think about, so I'd often hum loudly under my breath. It kept me from having to face any embarrassing conversations later, especially with the dwarf."

A soft prick of a smile darted around the edges of Cullen's mouth, but it wouldn't take as he kept attempting to melt into the floor. "It's not right to subject anyone to...um, things of that nature without--"

Andraste's grace, her heart ached watching him stumble so awkwardly, the blush more reminiscent of a sunburn for how it coated his skin. Lana scooted forward and pressed her lips against his cheek, feeling his flush bright upon her own skin. "I'm not scandalized, not by any means. I assume you've had your share of surprises as well over the years."

He rolled his eyes back at a memory and sneered, "Soldiers, templars, soldiers plus templars, it's a wonder we managed to stop a bronto much less Corypheus the way...uh, it's not important." Cullen shook it off as he pulled Lana's hand off his cheek and cupped hers inside of his. "I, it can be difficult, for me with you in my arms often, and -- not that I would ever -- and... Maker, I don't know what to say."

"Oh, please stop being so cute," she cried. "I don't know if my heart can take anymore."

"Cute?" he twisted his head, all sense adrift.

"My honey eyes," her fingers twisted in his grasp and carefully caressed his palms, "I understand. To tell the truth, having you so near, your tempting fingers," she spun them up so she could look upon his hands, "massaging me...I've, um, indulged myself a time or two."

"In the past?" he was trying to play it off, but she saw the rise of an ego driven smirk mixed in there, not that he didn't deserve one.

"Ah, yes," Lana blinked, aware of what got her through the fade. Maker, how was it growing so hot in the cold apartments in the midst of winter? She shifted in her seat, and bit down on her lip, "And once I was out of the fade, a couple times."

"You...?" Cullen's brow folded, the wrinkles in his forehead deepening to ruts, "How? When?"

She shrugged, "You find time, I find time too."

"Wait a moment. I'm...if you've been, uh, um..." he waved his hand in a circle, his throat bobbing as he struggled to raise the word.

"Aroused?" she threw out.

"Yes, that, then why haven't we...? I-I don't, I mean I'd never want to presume but, you've mentioned on occasion and we still..." his words trailed off as if the blush crawled up his throat and strangled his tongue. Only confusion was readable across his face. Lana tried to throw on a patina of certainty in her words as her mind screamed at her for her failures, for not anticipating this burning question between them.

"I, it's not that I don't want to, I..." Lana's head hung down and she breathed through her nose, doing her damnedest to shore up her mouth for fear of what could escape it. She felt Cullen's hands land upon her shoulders, trying to soothe them and her untethered mind.

"Lana, if you don't want to, you--"

"No," her head snapped up, "No, you deserve an explanation. Believe me, there are times I am tempted, very tempted but..." she screwed her nose up to bury down the tears and as a distraction pointed at her legs. "It's been so long since anyone, uh, and my body's, well, I mean. I can't even turn without falling to the ground. What if...? What if I can't last long, or, I start to hurt in the middle of...?"

"Then we stop," Cullen said, certainty driving away his confusion.

Lana scoffed, "That simple? Even if you're about to--"

"Yes, even if...Maker's breath, Lana, you shouldn't have to harm your body for my sake. I can take care of myself, as you are well aware of now," he grumbled the last part to himself but it got a laugh from her and she reached out to wrap her arms around him.

Pulling his head tight to hers, Lana felt the tears come, but they were grateful ones and not shameful at her failures. She came saddled with so many, and yet he kept putting up with each one for reasons she could scarcely understand. As Cullen slid out of the hug, he cupped his hands around her face and stared deep into her eyes, "I never want to hurt you, ever."

"I love you," she whispered, her lips pursing into a kiss which he was happy to fulfill.

"I love you," he said, running his fingers through her short hair. As his hands fell away, Lana grabbed one and pressed the palm of it to her lips. He smelled just how she remembered in her exile in the fade, and her days in Amaranthine after the deeproads; musky in a homespun, sun-laced field of wheat way. The scent and heat of his skin awakened what began when she walked in on him.

Her eyes drifted up to his and Cullen seemed to sense the change in her, as he had to adjust his stance on his knees. "What if," Lana began, aware that her voice dipped lower in her need, "we take it slow? We sort of skipped all that early parts the first time..."

A rare full smile lit up across his cheeks as he inched closer to the divan, "I suppose we did. There wasn't a lot of time for romance as I recall."

"Darkspawn ruin everything," Lana laughed, drawing one from him as well.

Cullen's amber eyes darted down for a moment across her body before he looked up at her, "I'll go as slow as you want, gladly. You lead and I'll follow."

She leaned over towards him. Even on the couch and Cullen on his knees before her, because of her short height she was at most an inch above him. Running her palm across his cheek and back to cup his neck, she guided him closer and whispered, "Kiss me."

Beautiful honey eyes slipped closed as he pressed his lips to hers, chastely dipping into the kiss, but Lana hungered for so much more. The kind of kiss she'd been denied for years. Her other hand joined the first behind his neck as she parted her lips. With a soft touch, her tongue tasted him, barely running up his lips before darting back inside. She wasn't certain if he'd understand, but Cullen matched her in kind, his own mouth opening so they could meld together as if they'd never kissed before.

More than her denied lust woke as Cullen's lips and tongue danced with hers. A sense of safety, of belonging, settled inside her soul. When his arms wrapped around her back she felt as if she was surrounded by impenetrable defenses. And when his lips softened against hers, the sweet heat told her she was loved. She didn't realize how on edge she was every time she kissed him until it all cracked away. So scared before of having to break off his advances, worried that he'd turn cold if she told him of her concerns about pushing herself too far. Maker, she was an idiot.

"Cullen," Lana's lips slipped a breath away, her words whispered along his cheek. His eyes opened and he smiled at her, waiting. She extended her neck, and said, "Kiss my birthmark."

With both cheeks stretched in joy, Cullen kissed her first on the lips, the tips of his teeth threading across her bottom one. Lana felt a moan rising in her heart, when he broke away and began kissing down her neck. More than heat stirred between her legs when his lips reached the tips of her birthmark. One hand smoothed down her skin, absently tracing the pink pattern, while the other circled around her waist.

Sighing under his breath, he watched his fingers caressing her skin before plunging his lips to it. "Oh Maker," Lana squirmed, lifting higher off the couch as each petal soft kiss pressed against her skin. She didn't know what drove him to love that mark of hers so much, but his obsession pushed her own. More than wanting, she needed to feel him kiss every inch of it. Gently, she pulled back on the lace covering her décolletage giving him access to the hidden edges of it.

A groan, even more alluring than the one she heard from behind the desk, rattled Cullen's throat as he dove deeper down, happily lost in kissing her skin. Despite the obvious distractions only a short distance below his chin, he kept his hands off her chest, never wanting to cross her boundaries. But when his lips dipped right at the final edge of her birthmark right at the top, she needed his hands upon her breasts. Lana tried to speak, but her words were smothered by her slack tongue and unreachable by her buzzing brain.

Lifting her hands, she picked up the one around her waist. Cullen's lips paused and he slid back as if to let her go. Instead, she grabbed onto his other hand and placed them both upon her breasts. His eyes widened, watching his palms overfill with her bounty, but then he glanced up uncertainly. Lana nodded, and tried to slide closer.

Needing no more suggestions, Cullen's hands swirled over top both breasts, the callus on his right palm in just the right spot to stimulate her nipple. She'd thought Leliana's suggestion to skip the corset in favor of some band of cloth idiotic at the time, but now she was grateful beyond measure. Through the thin fabric of her dress and the band she could feel his every twist and turn as if he was trying to polish a priceless artifact. Both of her nipples prodded free, and while she ached to feel his lips and teeth against them, she put it down to save later. Right now, this was amazing in and of itself.

Cullen seemed to agree as he rose up on his knees and pressed his lips to hers; when his tongue darted across her lips he gave a squeeze to her breasts. As Lana moaned in pleasure, he dove in deep, rolling with her tongue as if...as if the past two years never happened. Her fingers dug through his hair, pinning him to her, needing him, wanting him.

Gasping, Cullen slipped back and took in a deep breath which caused his body to shudder. "Maker, this is..."

"I know," she tried to smirk but she felt wiped clean, there was no coy come hither left in her, only joy at feeling him against her skin.

He placed his forehead against hers and whispered, "I've missed you."

She froze as his lips touched hers. In the back of her mind, a memory the spirit or demon drove out of her rose from its depths, where another man in another place said the same thing just before they...before she ruined everything between them. Cullen sensed the change and he rose away from her, his hands falling off her chest. "Lana, are you...?"

Throwing up a smile quickly, she batted at her cheek as if there was a stray hair there, "It's good, it's very good, I...sorry. It's been a long day, a long couple of days, and..."

"We can stop anytime," he said. "That was the point."

"Right, right, the point..." she couldn't stop staring at her fingers, watching them work in and out and through each other. She used to marvel at the tendons flexing below her skin but now it unnerved her how much of the inner workings of her hand were visible with all that weight lost.

Cullen sat back on his haunches and rubbed a hand through his hair, "What's bothering you? Something's gone wrong."

"No," she shook her head, her false smile slipping away from her every grasp. She tried to paint it on again as she looked at him, but his eyes narrowed in response. "I...I keep thinking, do you really want to leave the Inquisition?"

"What?" Cullen dug his hands into his eyes, "Why are you asking that now? Why are you even wondering?"

"It, it was your home for a long time, and, I...I don't want to be the one to come between you and..."

The hands fell from his eyes and she could feel the glower radiating off him without looking up. "You were going to say duty, weren't you?" Cullen sucked in a breath and squared his shoulders. She risked a glance in his direction and watched as his lips worked through a series of sneers, but it wasn't until he shut his eyes that he spoke. "Lana, I'm not him."

"What, him who?"

"You know very well who," Cullen thundered, his hand smacking into the other, the slap reverberating in the quiet apartment.

"For the Maker's sake, I know you're not him," she argued back, at a loss for what brought this out.

"Really?" In his anger, he rose to his feet and began to pace back and forth, "Because I'm not so sure anymore. I'm more than well aware how alike we look, and...by the void, I know what we share in common. Even our damn--" Cullen stopped and growled in his throat. "Is that what I am to you? A replacement for what you can't have?"

"What? No, never," Lana struggled to get her legs off the couch, but pain flared up her hip. "You're not, you've never been, no..." She tried to catch his hand, but Cullen was too agitated to stop and it slipped past.

"Then why do you keep acting as if I'll make the same choices he does? As if I'll make the same mistakes? Can you even see us as different people?"

"I don't..." she swallowed her words, feeling the rise of tears brimming in her eyes. She had no idea why Cullen's decision to abandon the Inquisition cut her to the quick. It should make her happy to have the potential of him to herself, but all she felt when she thought upon it was a dread growing in her stomach. Shaking her head, Lana looked up at him, "I know you're two different people. You've always been..."

Cullen sneered, his fingers gripping tight to each other, "Ten years, he and you for so long, even as close together and... what he did for you, without question? And I, no." Freezing in place, Cullen gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into his head. "No, no." He whipped his head back and forth, stomping away from Lana. "I have to get out of here, to think."

She couldn't stop a sob racking her throat, a solitary one that ushered in a cascade of tears. "Cullen, I..."

For a moment, he paused at the door and his eyes drifted over her stuck on the sofa. Scowling at the ground, he cracked open the door's handle and spat out, "I'm not him." Slamming the door, a deadly silence followed in his wake.

Lana yearned to chase after him, to rise to her feet and try to explain, but even shifting her legs only brought more agony up her body. She bit down on the pain and tried anyway, a scream building at the back of her eyes. A single foot planted on the ground, then the other, but when she went to stand, her muscles melted like snow and Lana crashed to the ground. Her bruised hip and shoulder took most of it, digging into the cold stone floors. The tears wouldn't stop, dripping off her cheeks and splattering against the stone she couldn't rise off of.

Inconsolable, Lana whispered to the empty air, "I know you're not him. I know it. You're not him. I...I don't want you to be."


	5. Damn

_Damn it all!_

He was barely aware of his surroundings, only caught the occasional gasp of a chantry Mother or Sister waving her brittle hands at the man radiating rage as he stomped past their doors in the early morning hours. In another mood, Cullen would have grimaced at startling them and slunk away. Now, all he did was glare with the full force of command and they gasped at his audacity before sliding back to their own rooms in the Cathedral.

Damn that man, the smug bastard who knew...he knew the whole damn time that if he merely played his cards right and bided his time he'd win. She'd return, of course she would, she had once before and...and the bastard didn't change at all. Cullen wrapped a hand against his forearm and dug in with the nails. He wasn't good enough. Sure, he rose to the ranks of Commander within the respected Inquisition but what did that compare to a King? And while he was perhaps an early crush, that man -- that Maker damned man -- was her first love. How could he compete with any of that? Alistair had a nation and Cullen had...had...

He lashed out, his fist smacking against the stone wall with such force clumps of dust rattled off the tapestries hanging above it. There should be pain, but his body was numb, his limbs ice and heart sludge in the snow. He thought he had her, finally. Nothing else between them, but...

Roaring from the depths of his throat came the thirst, always clawing on the edges, prepared to overtake him at a moment's notice. His skin itched as if the muscles and sinew below were trying to pop out and free him from the agony barely coating the surface. If he stopped for a moment, the ringing in his head and need in his veins awoke the slumbering dragon buried in his gut and anger overtook him. An anger he struggled to keep at bay. It was never this bad the first time he broke free, but maybe Kirkwall kept him distracted. He needed his duty to...

Andraste's grace, he was as bad as Alistair.

The pain of pinching radiated off his arm, and Cullen pulled his hand away to find pinpricks of blood welling up across the verdant stretch of his shirt. He'd managed to cut himself through the fabric and hadn't even noticed. Cursing at the mess, he unbuttoned the cuff and rolled the sleeve up before it stained permanently on her... She gave it to him, smiled with a soft question as he opened it. She begged him to tell her if it was all right as he tried it on and to make it the truth. It was perfect; no frills, no pointless buttons, soft to the touch but sturdy for constant use and as green as the fields of the Hinterlands in late spring.

_You made her cry._

He smacked the back of his head against the wall, wishing he could drown back the anger percolating inside him. No matter how much he willed them back the visions and memories of the past months always returned. Alistair, dead certain that they'd find Lana, that they'd save her, while Cullen fumbled in the dark. How the king risked everything he had for this woman who wanted nothing to do with him. And yet, they were talking again, attempting another friendship because...because Alistair knew Lana better than Cullen could ever hope to. Cullen could almost convince himself that he was being too hard on himself, weighing his own waning convictions against an unfair advantage. But even as he held her body, her sleeping head pressed against his chest as her warm breath warmed trickled across his skin, he wondered to himself if he'd known the truth about the phylactery from the start would he have pursued her? When darkness crept through him, the thirst yanking every certainty from his brain, he felt in his heart the answer: no.

_You swore you'd never hurt her._

She deserved better than that, better than someone who had no faith in her, in himself, in anything. Crumbling to his knees, Cullen realized he wasn't mad at Lana for wishing he had the conviction of Alistair, but at himself for not. Pinching his eyes tight, he saw a flash of their time trapped in the fade. Lana, not his but the king's version, swollen with child and so happy, all her hard edges buffed away by being surrounded in family. _Maker,_ Cullen gasped as the idea stabbed against his heart. Could he ever make the real Lana as happy as that one?

_You promised you'd never hurt her. You made her cry._

"Shit," he cried out, his solitary curse echoing down the abandoned hall. A dozen chantry Mothers prodded their heads out of their doors, about to admonish him. But all their tsking silenced at the broken man wandering past, his head hanging flush with his chest as he stumbled back to his room.

By the time he reached their door, all the rage washed clean from his body leaving only a depthless despair in its place. He didn't feel like he deserved anything, not even to shrink back alone to the Inquisition. He was failure personified, his touch withering all he dared bother. No fresh lights burned in the dark rooms, and he cast a cursory glance over at the divan but didn't spot Lana. She must have gone to the bedroom. Cullen tried to pinch himself to decide if he should impress upon her or let her be when a gasp broke from the floor.

Sliding deeper into the room, his world darkened at her body prostrated on the floor in front of the couch. "No," he whispered, fear pounding under his flesh, visions of the same horror he felt when he thought her dead blanketing his vision to a searing white. He was about to cry out, when Lana lifted her head. _By the Maker, she was okay._ Honor sat beside her head, her tongue lapping over her cheeks to try and catch tears. The tears he caused.

In a broken voice, she whispered, "I know you're not him."

Cullen smoothed his hand over his eyes to try and wipe away the emotion. In a steady voice he asked, "Lana, what happened? Why are you one the floor?"

"I," she pointed at the divan, sniffles punctuating her pauses, "tried to come after you, but..." Now she struggled to rise up to her elbows and a bone rattling groan burst from her, "my legs didn't work and...and I fell."

"Blessed Andraste," Cullen plummeted to his knees beside her and he felt the tears rain down his cheeks, "I'm sorry, I never should have...I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," she whimpered, folding deeper in on herself. Her hand curled up the arm of her dress smudged in dirt from the floor. "It's mine for..." Lana's head snapped up and through her cascade of tears she stared at him, "I swear, Cullen, I don't think of you as Alistair. I...I don't want you to be him. Never, I..."

"Shh..." he plopped down beside her and tried to comfort her while keeping his hands knotted around his legs, "I, I was wrong to question it, to doubt it. Lana, I..." Folding his chin to his chest, Cullen picked apart all the pain that squatted in his heart for the past three months. "Finding you, searching for you, it-it wore upon me, broke me. Some nights I was, did...did he ever tell you why we got into the fist fight?" Lana's mouth slipped closed and she slowly shook her head no.

"We reached a boiling point, when your phylactery...it doesn't matter. Doesn't excuse it. All that does is prove he believed that you were alive and I," Cullen sunk even deeper into himself, "I didn't." He didn't realize he was openly weeping into his knees until Lana's hand graced across one.

"I don't hold that against you," she said, her own stained eyes wide in compassion. The depths of it stung him even deeper.

"But I do. After everything you suffered, two years in...and I couldn't even bother to try and find you myself. It took someone else, him, to drag me out from behind my desk. It's...I'm not..." His words faded to blubbering as Lana wrapped her hands around his chest and she managed to drag herself closer. Settling her head upon his bent knees, she softly caressed his leg as if she was trying to revive his overworked muscles. He watched her silently worry her hand up and down him, the tug of his pants against her calming touch shaking him out of the stupor. With his heart in his throat, Cullen reached a finger out to run across her hair. Lana didn't pause in caressing him, so he added another two until his whole hand held her head.

"I'm not good enough for you," he whispered, grimacing at the stark facts. He knew even when they were both nobodies, only a mage apprentice and a knight-lieutenant in the Circle tower, that she was beyond him. And now? To think even for a moment that he'd deserve a scrap of the Hero of Ferelden's time never mind her whole life, it was ludicrous.

Lana paused in caressing his leg and wrapped both of her arms around his knees in a strange hug. "That's not true." She lifted her eternal eyes to him and shook her head, "Don't, don't treat me like I'm some perfect thing hoisted upon a pedestal. I'm not. For the Maker's sake, I can't even get off the damn couch."

"You are to me," slipped out of his eternal wallow. He yearned to stroke her cheek but he felt dirty, his skin sickly with a filth that'd never come clean.

Snorting, Lana's eyes narrowed. She struggled to rise up and, with the tip of her finger, she prodded into his chest, "Bullshit. What about me and tea? I know that annoys you." Cullen curled downward, his eyes watching her finger push lightly into his sternum as she continued to make her point. "I leave books everywhere, all the time, sometimes ones I don't even remember getting much less reading. Once, I got into a three hour long argument with someone about...Maker, I don't remember, and when I went to look it up I realized we were both wrong."

"You'll often store cakes and biscuits in your pockets for later," Cullen mumbled out, smiling at the memory. Lana's tirade paused and sheepishly she reached towards her hip where no doubt a treat left over from her time with Leliana rested.

"I...how did you know that?"

"When you're beyond annoyed with someone, you flap your arms up and down as if you intend to take flight and grow so flustered you can't speak a word," he chuckled, letting the memory he'd kept walled away return to the light. Cullen preserved so many memories of her far from his conscious mind; after her loss he couldn't bear to think upon them.

"That..." Lana absently ran a finger down her cheek and he spotted a blush rising up through her beautiful skin. "That's uh, yes I do that. Not as often anymore, because there were some wardens who may have put on a play where they, uh..." She swallowed, digging into the back of her neck as she now glared up at the ceiling. Reaching forward, he gripped both of her hands in his, massaging the back of them with his thumb. Lana didn't break from her vigil on the ceiling, her blush brightening even by the dim candle light.

"I'm sorry," Cullen moaned.

"It wasn't the worst play ever," her eyes broke from the ceiling and she shrugged. "Sigruin has a real talent with the flute. Had." Her face fell with that correction and he saw her playing out her faults anew, because of him, because he'd given in to his own misery.

"It's the lyrium, I... I fear I've lost what certainty I had before. It gave me a drive, a conviction and without it I feel adrift and..." his head slopped down, "I panic more, lose myself to-to remorse, regret, I'm so sorry. To hurt you, to, Maker, you fell down because I--"

Lana threw her arms around his neck, straining to reach, and pulled his forehead to hers. She didn't kiss him, only pressed their skin together by that single connection as they breathed each other in. He'd tried a few calming exercises when he first gave up lyrium, count of five in and out until the urges passed. Puckering up his lips and fighting through the damn ego insisting he didn't need it, Cullen pulled in a breath and waited before exhaling. He went again, imaging the air wiping away his pain. It didn't really work, but he liked to pretend it did. After a few more, he lifted his eyes to find Lana matching him breath for breath.

"I keep blaming myself for not assaulting the Fade and rescuing you. Two years. You were trapped in there for two years and all I did was grieve. How can you forgive that?" He'd tried to shake that thought away, but it hounded him every step away from the grey warden prison that held her. If he'd been strong enough, Lana wouldn't have to have suffered in there, she wouldn't be in the state she is now.

Her eyes opened and so close to him he fell transfixed into the golden halos circling her pupils. "No. Maker's breath, Cullen. No. I can never blame you for that. I went into the fade, okay I didn't go _in_ willingly, but I stayed behind. I thought I was sacrificing my life to save others..." Her fingers slid off his neck to cup around his cheeks. Lana swallowed a few times, her lips breathlessly sounding through something before she spoke, "If anything, you should hate me for that. For abandoning you when I didn't have to." By some foul trick of the Maker his grief transferred to her and the strident, certain woman collapsed in on herself. Her chin brushed over her chest, her eyes boring into the floor, but she kept a tight lock on his face as if she didn't want to ever let go.

"It's my fault for all of it. Every damn day, as always. No matter how hard I try, it keeps going wrong," she stuttered and he heard the sobs begin again.

"Lana," he cupped her chin and tried to lift her heavy head. While she obliged him, her eyes skipped past, terrified to look into his.

Her nose flared, sucking down a sob that escaped through her mouth instead, "I'm so scared, terrified that... I know you're not Alistair, that you'll never make the choices he did. That's not the problem. It's me. In all of this, I'm still me. I'm still the same person who... By the void, I don't know what I did wrong, what I keep doing wrong to-to make everyone abandon me."

"Oh, Lana," stricken, he ensnared her in a hug, trying to pull her weeping face to him as if that would somehow wipe away all her pain.

"If I, losing you would be...I can't imagine it. Don't even want to, ever, but, what if I do it again? What if I push you to do something you don't wish and-and you'll want nothing to do with me? You'll leave me."

Maker, that was why she was so worried about the Inquisition. He felt an even greater fool at the obviousness laid out before him. Locking his arms tighter around her, Cullen shook off his tears but it wasn't enough. To stall for time, he pressed a kiss against her forehead and found his lips trembling. All her life, the people she counted on and needed vanished either to death or choice. All his life, he'd kept himself walled away afraid of the same.

"I'm sorry," she croaked in the silence, "I'm so bad at this."

"Not as bad as me," he laughed but felt the sorrow bobbing through it. "Lana, please look at me," Cullen slackened his arms. It took her a moment, but she lifted her eyes to his. He held tight to her hands between them. "I swear to you, to Andraste and the Maker, I'm not leaving the Inquisition because you're forcing me to. I don't feel any regrets at all, and none towards you. By the void, the idea of being free to be with you, to not have to worry about a soldier or aide wandering in when I kiss you is...dizzying and thrilling to contemplate. I will not turn around and leave you, because I can't imagine being without you, not again."

Her lip stopped wobbling and she seemed to be taking in his earnest words. After a time, Lana removed a hand from his to wipe away her tears, then returned it. "I'm an idiot," she sighed, a wisp of a smile flitting around her lips.

It heartened him to see it and Cullen felt his own cloud lighten. "If so, then I am twice an idiot."

"A twidiot?" she said, and a thread of mischief ran through her eyes. Cullen let a laugh echo in his throat even though he didn't entirely feel it, but he wanted to. He moved to wrap his arms around her again, but Lana hissed as he glanced across her shoulder. "That," she groaned, tenderly touching it, "was the part I hit on the floor."

"I should..." Cullen whipped his head around, realizing for the first time that they were sitting on the stone, "it's freezing here, you shouldn't be down on the ground like this. I can get you a blanket or..."

"Cullen," her hand glanced over his and he turned to her, "take me to bed. It's been a long night, and I think we both need sleep. You're looking rather ragged around the edges." She pointed at his red eyes as if she didn't have the exact same.

Bowing his head, he let Lana lock her hands around his neck so he could lift her into his arms to carry to the bedroom. It would probably be considered romantic if he hadn't just overreacted, shouted at her, ran from her, and returned with his tail between his legs. Without looking at any of the imposing decor, Cullen lowered Lana to the bed, her hands falling slack against the mattress. He turned away so she could undress in privacy, but he felt her hand straggle up his back.

"Come lay down, please," she patted his side, her eyes gazing up at him.

Nodding, he slipped around the bed making certain to not touch the posts, and fell below her still patting hand. Exhaustion held at bay by a thousand stampeding emotions rattled up through his legs. Groaning from age taking its toll, Cullen stretched out across the bed, grateful that they didn't have to sleep on the ground any longer. Lana scooted near him, and as she laid her head against his chest, he draped an arm over her, snuggling her closer. _Maker, how could he have endangered this?_

She seemed to be thinking the same as she whispered, "Does, does that count as our first fight?"

"I, um, suppose it does," he felt even stupider for it. In his heart he knew she wanted him, loved him, but that destitute part of him, the one broken free by the lyrium, kept chipping away at the only certainty in his life.

"Well," Lana rolled her chin up so she could look into his eyes. From his vantage point on the pillow he could only see her through the fan of her lashes. "I think that makes us official then. Congratulations Mr. Rutherford, you're saddled with a mage," she chuckled, her fingers stroking the shirt across his chest.

"And you're stuck with a broken down, ex-templar, Ms. Amell," he said.

"Not broken," she interrupted, the deprecating laugh replaced by a seriousness burning in her eyes, "hurt. Hurt can be healed. We can heal." To back up her statement, she dipped into the veil and a blue spark trailed her fingers. A surge of magic caressed down him, the sensation cool and bright vanishing the itching of his skin in its wake. Lana sat up and placed her fingers against her own bruised shoulder. "One for you, and one for me."

"I love you, Lana," he caught her fingers not to stop the magic but to press her close to him, to feel as much of her as he could, "even if I'm terrible at showing it."

She snickered at that assessment before sighing. Her warm cheek burrowed into his chest as she settled down onto him. Holding her, keeping her safe, loving her -- that was what he signed up for. To have her love in return, to protect him, to hold him back -- that was what he lived for. It was going to take time, and the Maker didn't plan to make it easy, but he was going to give it everything inside of him.

Lana's lips mumbled against his chest, her body falling slack as sleep took its claim, "I love you too, Cullen. And I never want this to end."

Laying his head back on the pillow, holding her tight to him as she slipped off to slumber, Cullen mouthed, "Neither do I."

 

* * *

 

 

Warmth overran Lana's weary limbs, her skin almost burning from the flames licking across it. She tried to call to the ice always within her, but something dampened it, the presence yanking the spell off her fingers and holding it beyond her reach. That was impossible. _No, you can't do that to..._ Like slithering out of a bath, the fade dripped away from her consciousness and the real world raced to fill it instead. Before she opened her eyes, she took a deep breath, her lungs inflating with air she kept denying herself while she slept.

As she cracked an eye open, she spotted not one but two blankets rolled around her sweating body. "Maker, not again," she groaned at her night thieving ways. Struggling to wiggle out from under the weight, it dawned on her that it was herself in her dream holding the spell away so she didn't do something stupid. It used to happen often when she was little and fresh into the power that'd wake her whimpering in the corner. The mages called it their imaginary friend. Some had a wisp, others an animal that'd whisper to them to sheathe their spells and lower their hands. _It was all a dream_. Lana's never took any form, certainly nothing as interesting as Margie's three headed dragon with a fuzzy, purple belly. It was a blankness, colder than the depths of the void, that'd chastise her and yank her power away when she was in danger of abusing it.

With time and practice the imaginary friends faded, no longer needed to keep the scared mages company. She thought she was long beyond needing it, until the nightmares began. With remnants of the blight dripping and oozing into her mind, her warning would step in when things got out of hand but sometimes, sometimes Lana would overpower it and then... Then things could get dangerous.

She managed to slither up to a reclining position from out under the quilt she stole off Cullen. Lana expected him to have risen already, he seemed incapable of sleeping in past dawn, but his still clothed body lay curled up beside her. He had one hand dug under his pillow trying to mash it into his face. Worry lines crested across his forehead, but she couldn't tell if they were from some new pain or the constant ones. Willing her arms to obey, Lana slid the quilt over to its rightful owner. He looked cold, curled in on himself, but the addition of the blanket didn't seem to change his state.

Smiling to herself, Lana's fingers traipsed across his forehead, the touch barely there. At first he sneered, something in his dream either annoying or antagonizing him, but when she cupped his cheek it all vanished. The eternally peeved Commander melted away to Cullen fast asleep in the clothes he wore the day, his curls fanning out over the pillow. Why was she so damn scared? Not of him, but of herself, of putting her heart out and once again having it burst to ash. Of doing the wrong thing, making the wrong step, and having to pick herself up again. Could she even manage it one more time or would that be her undoing?

And it'd been going so well until she overthought and panicked. Maker, but she missed his fingers. He'd been near on professional in his touch before, only massaging deep into her muscles and never even letting an errant elbow or hand drift near her chest. To have his hands curve over her skin, his lips pressed upon her mark with the same passion she remembered before... Lana snickered as another piece slotted into place. Two years since they'd been together, and even then their moments together were brief and often hurried. She worried to herself what if he didn't feel the same physical connection of before. What if she didn't? Oh, she knew she ached for him, that became rather obvious the few times she'd catch him in the midst of changing or preparing for a bath. But so much could...no, she was being stupid again. One day at a time, that was the plan.

With her hand cupping his shoulder, Lana slid down the bed to rest beside him. The exact same way she did after waking from a nightmare at the Winter Palace. Andraste's tears, but he was even more handsome now by the flickering fire in the hearth and the sun trying to pour from under the door. Was it any wonder she fell helplessly in love with him? Lana snorted at that thought, hopelessly in love in spite of her own attempts to sabotage it. Somehow he kept clinging on, hoping that she'd wake up and realize what was always there. And he was never pushy about any of it.

Scooting closer to him, her hand ran over the top of his arm and she whispered to his slack face, "I don't deserve you." Cullen snorted, but he didn't wake. After pausing to make certain she didn't disturb him, Lana moved to press her lips against his cheek when she heard the sound of knocking from outside. She glanced down at her legs, still tangled in her blanket and skirt. The pain was deader than last night, but her hip flared in vengeful red. Rising up to the door seemed a monumental task. Unaware of her decision, the knocking continued outside, the soft thud being what broke through Cullen's sleep.

His eyes snapped open, a panic roaring through them, until they traced over at Lana smiling at him and calm blotted his anxiety away. "Morning," he whispered.

"Back at you," she said. Lifting up the edge of his quilt, she snuggled into his waiting arms.

As his lips buried into the top of her head, he whispered, "I'm guessing you stole it again."

"Maybe if we nail it to the bed post?" Lana suggested, her eyes trailing over to what they called "Two Lovers and a Helping Hand." It was nowhere near as bad as the back right one that had tentacles in the name.

Cullen glared at the post he hated slightly less than the other three, then shook his matted hair, when another far more fervid knock beat against the door. He moved to get up, when Lana wrapped her arms around him and clung tight. "Shouldn't we...?"

"I'm not going to be able to get up for awhile so I've decided to stay put."

His body crumbled as soft hands caressed down her arm, "Lana, I'm so sorry for..."

"Shhh," she patted her fingers against his apologizing lips, "I know you certainly never meant to. And besides, I did have a long day with Leliana. It's not surprising I pushed myself beyond the limit."

"Still, I..." his words fell off as the continual pounding broke away.

Lana smirked, "See, I knew they'd give up eventually. Now..." she snuggled her head against the crook of his arm, her hand curling across his chest. Cullen's frown slipped away, but she could still see the regret ringing in his eyes. Lifting her head up, she aimed to kiss that pain away when the door to the bedroom flew open.

"What the...?" Ice rose up Lana's fist before her brain registered that it was Leliana standing in the frame, her hands crossed as she tapped her foot.

Cullen moved to try and leap out of bed, but Lana's body remained on top of him. "Your most Holy, I mean Leliana, um...this is not what, I...?" He sat up and whipped his head around in confusion.

Nothing crossed Leliana's stern face, even as Cullen awkwardly stumbled around every word he could stutter out. "It's not the worst of what I feared to stumble in upon. When you didn't answer my first knock I grew worried that something dreadful happened," she said looking only at Lana.

"So you burst right into the bedroom without a single word?" Lana tried to sit up as well, but her head swam as a headache competed with the pain in her hips.

"It's not like you to sleep so late into the day, and..." Leliana paused, and a hit of embarrassment actually crested across her porcelain cheeks. "Yes, you make an excellent point. I should have called out and yet, there doesn't seem to be much damage. You're both still..." her blushing tone fell off as her eyes canvassed both of them, "dressed in the same attire you wore yesterday."

"I can..." Cullen began, but Lana cut him off.

"It was a long day, long night too if you don't remember. And, Maker's sake, how do you not have a splitting headache after all we drank?" she gasped, acutely aware of the taste of dead crackers in her mouth and bright lights popping against her vision.

"How could I forget that you don't last long when wine's involved?" Leliana chuckled.

"I do just fine with wine, it's when you start adding all the other stuff that everything goes downhill fast," Lana pouted, struggling to rise up higher but her head refused to lift.

Leliana shrugged a shoulder, before slightly bowing, "As you say. Come, there's someone I want you to meet. Both of you. I think she could help solve a few problems."

"Ah..." Lana's weary hands pinched into her thighs buried below the blanket, "I'm afraid I don't think I can get up just now."

"Why?" Leliana's lighthearted tone snapped to ice and she glared at Cullen.

"It was my fault," Lana interrupted, "took a turn too quick, popped out my hip and bam, right to the floor. Bet it'll make a pretty bruise on my shoulder to go along with all the scars," she tried to laugh at the absurdity, but Leliana didn't seem to believe her.

"I see. Then this wouldn't have anything to do with the other report I have of someone screaming blasphemes at the top of his lungs in the middle of the night?"

So that was really why she burst in. Lana cast a sidelong glance at Cullen who looked as if he already intended to whip himself for his failures. But whatever little thing he shouted, it was certain the Mothers increased its ferocity tenfold for the sake of gossip. "Nope, I try to keep all of my screaming to the 'oh, ah' and 'damn' variety. Unless that last one counts," Lana stepped in the middle of Leliana's accusations.

While the Divine didn't look ready yet to release her intended target, she sighed and rolled her head. "Very well, I shall file it away as a mysterious circumstance. But there is someone you should meet." Leliana slid out of the room, leaving Lana and Cullen to share a shrug. He tried to point out how somehow this was his fault, while Lana waved it all away, certain Leliana would either forget it or drill her about it later. Either way, it shouldn't concern him.

When he looked about to leap out of the bed, Leliana returned with an elf behind her. She was stark, all edges and hard lines, with her brunette hair pinned back into a bun that drew her cheeks even tighter against sharp bones. Smiling at the addition, while Lana and Cullen tried to not look at the embarrassing decor, Leliana patted her hands upon the elf's shoulder. "This is Detan, she's here to be your assistant."

"My what?" Cullen started from the elf's piercing eyes sizing up her newest employer. Thank the Maker he was dressed at least, even if his clothes were simple and rumpled from the night.

"Given the gargantuan task before you, Commander, I thought someone to coordinate messengers, schedule appointments, and generally grease the wheels of bureaucracy would be helpful."

"Ah..." he dug his hand into the back of his neck, struggling to tell Leliana that he didn't need any help despite the fact he spent the night sleeping in his clothes. "I don't think..."

"Ser, if you will," Detan stepped towards the bed, her eyes never glancing across the posts' reliefs. She slid around a stack of vellum under her arm and began to lay each into Cullen's hands. "I have already filed the incoming missives from Skyhold, cross-referenced those with the others arriving from across Orlais. There are a few noted ones at the top from Ferelden, one in particular that seems to be from family. Yes, of course," she removed a smaller envelope from the stack and passed it to Lana. "And this from 'unnamed sources' for the 'lady of the cathedral.'"

Lana flipped Alistair's letter around in her hands, her jaw falling open. Damn, Detan was good. Maker knew Cullen could use a break. While he'd grit his teeth and buckle down harder, he didn't need to suffer alone, especially with the pain of lyrium withdrawals floating in his veins. She reached over to run a hand down his arm when her shoulder seized up. Hissing through the agony, Lana tried to massage it, but Cullen's fingers beat her to it, already drawing it out.

Detan watched the move with a curious eye. "If I may be bold to make a suggestion, I've often heard that swimming can assist in regaining strength in limbs that are lacking."

Lana glared at Leliana. There was no way Detan should be aware of what her condition was unless the Divine blabbed because the assistant was meant as much for the hidden Hero of Ferelden as for the Commander. Glancing away, Leliana let her glare fall off, as if she had good reason for her choices.

It was Cullen who snorted, unaware of the slip of information, "Swimming in the midst of winter, sounds a good way to freeze to death."

"I was thinking more making use of one of the spas indoor baths," Detan slotted her hands behind her back. In her spartan grey cassock she bore the striking resemblance of a statue.

"A spa?" Cullen's eyes bulged for a moment and he stopped his massage.

"Do they even make baths big enough for it to help?" Lana scoffed, feeling opposed to the idea for no good reason. She wanted to have some very harsh words with Leliana, but not while they were surrounded.

"You would be surprised," Leliana smiled, "This is Val Royeaux. Luxury is always attainable here."

"Lirlene's Escape boasts five foot deep ones," Detan said. "That should more than suffice."

"Sounds excellent," Leliana said, tipping her head at the assistant. "Do you think you can book an appointment for today?"

"What?" Lana interrupted, "I don't even want to... No, there's no way I can get out of bed today. Not to, no, not at all."

Leliana pursed her lips, "Very well, tomorrow then."

"The Escape is often reserved for months in advance," Detan clipped, her fingers drawing down a clipboard more terrifying than the one the ambassador used at Skyhold. This one had spikes on the end with small scraps of paper pierced through them. "But, I believe with the mention of the Divine's name it could be done." She smiled at that, her thin lips curling in a way that dropped dread into Lana's stomach. _Did she have no say in this?_

"Excellent," Leliana clapped her hands, "get right on that."

_Evidently not._

Detan bowed to her Most Holy, then turned on a quick heel. Everyone held their breath until they heard the main door click shut. "Do not make that face, Lanny," Leliana was the first to advance on her.

"Me? Okay, let's go over what you did today. Walked unannounced into the apartments."

"They are technically mine," Leliana smiled.

"Threw open the door to the bedroom where we could have been doing Maker knows what in here," Lana continued, needing to rant.

"I admit I'd have been surprised if you were summoning demons, but the rest of the options weren't anything within the realm of things I'm unaware of."

Lana growled at the amused smirk wrapping around her friend's face. "And now you throw some stranger into our complicated and private business."

"Detan is a professional. She's proven a valuable ally for me, and I think you will find she can work miracles better than the Maker himself sometimes."

Cullen placed the stack of missives in his lap, "It does seem a bit questionable to add another person to our secret."

"Then do not tell her. She needs not know anything beyond who you are," Leliana gestured at Cullen, "because believe me, all of Orlais knows you're here."

"What? Why?" he sat up at that, a shadow clouding his brow.

"But all she need know of Lanny is that she is with the Commander, in whatever capacity that with is, and needs help from time to time." Leliana dug her hands into her eyes and sighed, "If Josephine were available and not off starting her own fleet in Antiva I would have sent for her. As it is, this is your best option and believe me, you two need it."

Lana sunk back against her pillow, "All right, fine, we'll try Detan for awhile. See how it goes. If she only focuses on Cullen's problems then..."

"Why does all of Orlais care about my whereabouts?" Cullen stuttered, unable to let it go.

Leliana smirked at that, "If you will excuse me, I have a dozen meetings to attend." She threw on her smile, but something warbled below it. Lana wasn't certain if it was exhaustion, concern, or a Spymaster's long buried shrewdness shimmering out from below the invisible mask. "Commander," she dipped her head at him and made a curious move with her fingers.

Lana's eyes narrowed in confusion, but Cullen's widened and he bobbed his head, muttering, "Your Worship," a few times.

Carefully shutting the door, Leliana left them alone in the bedroom, and then the apartments themselves. Lana glanced over the stacks of vellum resting in Cullen's slack hands as he tried to sift through them. Spinning Alistair's letter a few more times, she sighed, "Well, that was something."

"You would tell me the truth if you ever thought your friend had any machinations to...um," Cullen swallowed hard, his eyes skirting towards her.

"She's not going to," Lana began, before remembering what Leliana did to the only man who ever tried to cheat on her, "I'll make certain she doesn't do anything."

Lana's pat on his hands didn't lift his spirits much, but he attempted a smile at her for trying. Ruffling over the pile of work, Cullen groaned, "Maker, I never expected it to be this complicated. Who knew decommissioning an army required so much paperwork?"

He had a neck straining, eye watering amount of work ahead of him sequestered at the desk while scribbling his signature across every letter he could find. If he was in Skyhold, this would take a few days, but by having to travel across country each letter had to be reproduced in triplicate to make certain no lines got misinterpreted. And he was doing it all for her, because she couldn't sleep alone.

Tossing the letter onto the floor, Lana scooped the pile of vellum out of Cullen's hands. He didn't complain, but a curious eye watched her drop them to the ground. "Forget it, all that," she scooped up his arm and draped it over her shoulder. Sliding her head against that tempting chest, Lana sighed, "Let's spend the day together in bed."

"I..."

She could see the arguments percolating in the back of his eyes, so Lana grabbed onto his jaw and pulled him in for a kiss. Tender as a whisper, his lips fell into hers, and she felt all of Cullen's worries melt away. After Lana pulled away, he didn't rise up from the bed, only wrapped his arm tighter around her and slid lower into it.

"You know, we will have to get up eventually," he said, puncturing the dream. Lana waved it away, happy to dismiss reality for a few hours at least. Chuckling at her carefree attitude, Cullen pressed his lips against her cheek and whispered, "What about breakfast?"

"Maker, I could go for some toast with all the jams on it," Lana groaned, her stomach reviving at the thought of food.

He smiled, curling her tighter to him, "I love when you're hungry."

"You're a simple man," Lana laughed at the idea.

"Yes I am," he sighed, the 'simple man' wrapping both of his grateful arms tighter against her and curling his hands around her arms. "But I am uncertain how we get breakfast to appear in this bed, unless...?"

She broke away from him to look up into his eyes and fully watch his attempt at miming spell casting. It was hilarious to watch non-mages feign their interpretation. Most tended to wave their arms around as if they were drowning, but the templar knew enough to keep it to just his fingers flaring out. While it'd never draw a spell out of the fade, it would make for an interesting battlefield signal.

"I'm afraid not, but," Lana raised her head and shouted, "Honor!" Sounds of paws hitting the floor broke from the sitting room and Cullen grumbled about the dog being on the furniture again. With no fuss, Honor barreled her way into the bedroom, her body plummeting back to the floor after her paws batted the door handle open. "Fetch breakfast," Lana commanded.

Honor woofed once, her backside wiggling at having something to do, before she turned around and ran back to the sitting room. "You don't think she'll actually find breakfast, do you?" Cullen asked, watching his dog with a concerned look.

Lana shrugged, "I've seen mabari bring back stranger things. Like used pantaloons."

"Are you serious?" he scoffed before swallowing it at her cold eye.

"There was cake too, a lot of cake."

Snickering at her sullen nod, Cullen slid deeper under the covers, dragging Lana with. Wrapped up in him, she felt more whole than she had in two years. "I love you," he whispered. "Even if I..."

"I love you too. And...we'll figure it out, the complicated parts of this whole thing," she said, her fingers picking at the few chest hair prodding over the neck of his shirt. They were nearly white now. Smiling, Lana laid each hair down. Out of all the options in all of thedas this was the only place she could imagine herself being. "I don't really have to swim in the bath house, do I?"

Cullen rolled his shoulders back, flattening himself further upon the bed, "Unless a dragon burns down half of Val Royeaux, I'm afraid we're both stuck."

"Huh, for once I'm rooting for the dragon."


	6. Spa Day

After ten years as the Hero of Ferelden Lana grew used to certain doors opening for her, even as the patrons kept a wary eye on the mage in their midst. People would sit up higher, conversations drawing to a lull as everyone watched to see what new shit storm would herald her arrival. This was the first time in as long as she could remember that no one bothered to turn a single glance her way; those were all preserved for the exasperated man at her side.

"Commander Cullen," a soft woman cry-whispered as they arrived outside Detan's selected spa. Everything about her was pillowed from her padded lips to her cheeks, down her chest to the fluffy slippers upon her feet. She was as if a cloud sprung to life, assumed the form of a woman, and decided to run a bathing house. Extending a hand to him, Cullen had to release his hold on Lana to accept it. Even then, he barely suppressed an eye roll at the idea. The woman's smile barely shifted as Cullen gripped back around Lana's waist. "And accompaniment, of course. We were delighted to hear of your arrival and have reserved an array of options for your needs from our famed mud and deep mushroom soaks to a facial made with the poison off a quillback's spines - it's good for tightening up any sagging parts," she whispered the last bit at him and Lana had to bury a giggle from the horror crawling up his face.

"No, that's...quillback spines? I...the baths. We're only here for the baths," he stated, his eyes skipping around the luxury on offer. Detan wasn't kidding when she said this was probably the most expensive bath house in all of Orlais. Marble, gold, jewels giving expensive eyes to the statues dribbling clean water into waiting pools - its opulence could serve as a micro-grand cathedral. As Lana's eyes glanced around the faces of a few of the patrons relaxing upon benches, no doubt carved from hand hewed ironbark, she recognized a few faces belonging to the chantry. Perhaps it was the second cathedral after all.

The proprietor who Lana was coming to suspect was the titular Lirlene, gestured the two of them towards a twelve foot tall door. It looked thick enough to stop an army, but she only had to push upon it with a single finger for the great stone to slide open. Lana glanced up at the mechanism, curious to see what kind of weights had to be necessary for such a feat. "Is there a winching system involved with...?"

"Please," Lirlene spoke over her, barely glancing at the little mage. Her eyes were fully upon the dashing Commander who looked like he'd eaten a full lemon before arriving. "We ask that guests wear these comfortable and complimentary slippers while in the spa," she said, gesturing to lines of white shoes missing the back half. They looked as if someone formed them out of wisps of cotton pulled in clumps from virgin fields; all the bundles of cotton smashed together and pressed into shoe form.

"I'm only hear for the bath house section," Cullen spoke up, looking like he had no intentions to take an inch of his clothing off. That should make the swimming part of this trip interesting.

A grimace snapped across Lirlene's face but she smoothed it away instantly, "The bathing pools are part of the spa, and these slippers will keep your toes warm off the marble floors."

"My boots seem to be doing an adequate job of that."

Poor Lirlene had no answer to that, her eyes glazing over as she weighed what had to be an insurmountable rule against the grandeur of the Commander of the Inquisition walking through their doors. Taking pity on her, Lana slid towards a bench and sat down. Placing her cane against the wall, she reached down to pull off her own shoes. Maker, they were a mess, rotted at the heel from her time in the Fade proper, and then the water seeping in while trapped in the hold. Was it any wonder no one in Orlais gave her the time of day? It was a surprise that Leliana's first stop wasn't to drag her to a cobbler, but the last time they talked shoes it hadn't gone well. And it seemed unlikely Lana was going to attempt anything with an increased heel anytime soon.

"Should we take whatever one we want?" Lana asked, her fingers washing over the fluffy options.

Lirlene glanced over once to her and shrugged, "Yes, the options are yours."

Smiling in thanks, Lana picked one of the smaller pair to match her tiny feet. She looked up at the stoic man and jerked her chin to the bench. Cullen gave an imperceptible shake of his head no, which got him a glare. Accepting he wasn't going to win, he finally sat down beside her and began unlacing his own shoes. At that, Lirlene clapped her hands in glee.

"Ah," she paused, rising up, "I forgot your robes. Give me but a moment." Racing off to some other part of the spa, she left the two alone.

Lana closed her eyes and flexed her toes in the slippers. Forget a cloud, this was like walking across water itself, parting with just enough give she almost could convincer herself stepping upon a lake was possible. "Oh," she sighed, patting Cullen's cheek, "are you planning on being grumpy the whole time? Because, I'm all for ducking out of here and heading home. My plant could use a watering and there are a few books left..."

Catching her hand, Cullen pulled her closer to him so he could kiss her excuses away. "You're going swimming, no matter what."

"Wonderful," she grumbled, tossing her head back to stare at the ceiling. Reliefs etched along the ceiling, but she couldn't understand them. The art looked ancient, far more than anything she'd expect to find in Val Royeaux. Curious...

Cullen finished sliding off his boots and reached for a pair of slippers. After he put them on, he groaned and Lana glanced down at his toes dangling off the edge. When he rippled them in consternation, she couldn't bury the laugh in her throat. "I never realized how large your feet are."

"It's not funny," he grumbled, trying to find a balance between either his toes or heels hanging off the edge.

"I don't know," Lana grinned wider, "it's rather entertaining to watch half of Val Royeaux fawn over the strapping Ferelden man in their midst."

"Ha," he snorted once, but she spotted a hint of a blush rising off his cheeks. "This is all another part of their Game."

"Right," Lana nodded her head, "the one called 'Let's see what's in the Commander's trousers.' I know that one well."

"What?" he whipped his head at her, and glared, "No, that...what are you speaking of?"

"Ah," Lana paused in telling him the full of what she'd learned from Leliana. It seemed the Commander himself was only given the bare minimum of the rather heated interest in him across Orlais. The fact he rose above it all with a cool shrug only drew their attention hotter, like a moth of a flame. It seemed nearly every available (and some not so available) women in Orlais intended to be the one to tame the brooding Commander. Lana thought Leliana only told it to her as a lark, until she caught the edge in her eyes as if she feared for her friend should anyone learn of Cullen's relationship with the quiet mage. But that all seemed beyond the pale to put upon Cullen's shoulders at the moment. "Oh, you know how people are...like apprentices," Lana tipped her head, trying to play off the game as something they'd have done back in the tower.

Cullen grimaced again, but he nodded, his eyes closing, "Far too well. I came across one of those lists once with...measurements."

At that Lana's eyebrows shot up. She'd never heard of an apprentice being so bold. "What did you do with it?"

"Burned it and swore to never mention it to anyone it could have affected," he said. Smiling at his answer, Lana moved her hand up his arm, her fingers digging into the taut muscle as she struggled to reach up and kiss him.

"Here we are," Lirlene shouted, appearing in the doorway. Sliding away fast, Lana glared down at her shoes while Cullen turned his on the woman baring two robes in her hands. "Slip these on and I'll direct you to the bathing pool."

Cullen picked it up, a sneer rising along his lip, when he glanced over at Lana. She mouthed 'we could still leave.' Shaking his head, he began to slide the robe's arm over top his when Lirlene spoke up.

"Ah, people traditionally wear only the robe before entering into the spa."

"You wish me to..." anger in the face of continual obstinance rose inside of him. Lana reached over and snagged his hand before he began to berate the poor woman. Cullen's eyes shut and he breathed deep for a moment. After the cloud passed, he glanced over at Lirlene and said the solitary, curt, "No."

She looked about to argue, but there was no budging the voice that decreed it. It was an order as if from the Maker himself. Nodding her head in agreement, she shifted away as Cullen finished cinching the robe up over his clothing. He passed the other to Lana who matched him in kind. "Very well," Lirlene sighed, and began to lead them into the spa proper.

As they stepped out, Lana took the time to rise up on her toes and whisper in Cullen's ear, "I told you half of Val Royeaux's trying to see you naked."

After walking past a room full of people buried up to their necks in mud and seeming to enjoy it, another where they had snake venom flicked at their faces, and an imposing door with steam bursting out of the seams as if at the very edge of thedas itself, Lirlene paused them before the bathing pool. A few deck chairs circled around a room sized recess into the ground. Tiled in even more marble, the mosaic upon the pool's walls looked like surf pounding into sand. Lana draped an arm around Cullen so she could rise up on her toes to see that at the bottom of the deep blue pool was a trio of mermaids in mosaic. Their tails looked razor sharp from the angles of the cut marble.

"This is the bathing pool, nearly thirty feet long with water heated by runes enchanted from the talented Fromari hands themselves, it is in fact the largest hot bath in all of thedas," Lirlene practically glowed with the pride she had for it. "Ah, Reynard," she gestured at a thin man standing beside the pool's fountain.

He wiped his hands off with a towel slung over his naked shoulders and paused before them. Bowing deep at the waist, his eyes darted over his boss before turning to Cullen and then lingering upon Lana. It was no more than an extra beat, but she swallowed at the way he stared at her, the grey eyes traveling over her body. "These must be the important guests for the day," Reynard spoke, his accent flourished with an extra emphasis.

Bowing his head to Cullen, he said, "Ser," then in turning to Lana a smile cracked his sun kissed face, "Mademoiselle." She kept her hands clutched tight to her cane so he didn't get any funny ideas to try and kiss them.

"Reynard, is everything up to specifications?" Lirlene interrupted the wolf stare.

"Yes, Ma'am," he snapped to attention, the move drawing Lana's attention to the lack of substantial clothing upon him. Apparently the spa attendants preferred to do most of their work in little more than their smalls if they could help it. She gazed upwards at the tiles coating the ceiling to cut down on the awkwardness.

Beaming his smile at the not looking Lana first, he toned it down a beat, and spoke professionally to Cullen, "The water is at a proper 32 degrees, though if you would like it cooler for swimming or warmer for...other purposes, you need only tap that rune slot there to alter it."

"I see," Cullen muttered. She could practically hear the vein in his neck trying to pop out as he held himself in check. The idea brought a small chuckle to her.

"Towels are provided upon the linen cart, I see you already have robes, and within the shelves there are bathing suits for mademoiselle," those grey eyes zeroed in on her now, another two teeth appearing in his smile as if he wanted her to know he possessed a set of canines. "Or..." he turned away from Lana to Cullen, but the commander interrupted him.

"Yes, I already know there are no sizes to fit me and came prepared."

"Ah..." Reynard's cocksure smile faltered and he glanced to his boss for a moment before sweeping it all away, "as you say. If you require anything at all, I can be reached with a wave of your delicate fingers," he spoke the last part to Lana who knew her cheeks were hotter than the pool.

Clapping her hands, Lirlene beamed at Cullen, "Please, enjoy your stay with us." She turned to leave the room with Reynard hot on her heels.

"You're both leaving?" Cullen's eyes darted about the room, both of them noticing the lack of anyone else inside.

Lirlene paused, more uncertainty rising to her face, "Of course. You requested a private session and we strive to provide here."

"Ah, right, private. Thank you," he said, then twisted the edge of his lips up in a halfhearted smile. It was enough to bring a full one back to Lirlene's round cheeks. Patting her flushed face, she all but skipped out of the room. Bowing his head deep, Reynard slipped out of the room but not before his eyes traveled over Lana's hidden curves once more.

As the door shut tight, Cullen let loose a growl in his voice, "The man strived to be as unsubtle as a druffalo in heat."

Chuckling at his discomfort, Lana ran her finger up his arm, "I suspect that was all for appearances."

"The appearance of being labeled a jackass, I'd believe."

"Maker," she sighed. Sliding towards the pool, Lana kicked off one of her slippers and reached a tender toe towards the water. She kept a tight grip on her cane in case the reach proved too much. "You've clearly never spent any time around noble women of a _certain_ persuasion." As her toe crested through the water, a comforting warmth washed over Lana. Perhaps this wouldn't be as bad as she feared.

"A certain persuasion?" Cullen pouted. He stomped to the nearest deck chair and tossed the robe onto it.

"Flattery can get one far when you're living on the middle rung," Lana said, turning back to him.

He sneered at the idea, then reached for the hem of his shirt and yanked it clean off. Lana had to stop her jaw from smashing through the gold and jewel encrusted floor. Sure, she'd seen him shirtless a few times since crawling out of the fade, but it was always in passing, a quick glance from the corner of her eye. Cullen raised an eyebrow from her stricken face while Lana tried to mentally absorb every inch of his still toned and surprisingly tanned skin. The last time she saw it, he was nearly white as a sheet, but a bit of the sun shifted him to the color of old vellum.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned as if she was trying to check him for odd moles and spotted one.

"I, uh," Lana tried to turn her head away, but her eyes traipsed down his stomach and a pop of defined abs from the few months walking thedas. What really did her in was his hips peeking over the top of the trousers, his damn v even more prominent than she remembered. Slightly aware of her body leaping up in joy, Lana turned back to the pool and focused on the mermaids. At least they all had the decency to cover their nudity in scales.

After she managed to lift her voice back from its gobsmacked stammer, Lana said, "It's not as if the proprietor of this establishment wasn't lavishing attention upon you."

"That..." he sounded argumentative, but when Lana turned back, Cullen wiped a hand through his hair and he sighed, "is fair." She smiled at that and shrugged. After watching her for a moment, Cullen snapped his finger, "Do you require a suit? I could get one down from the..."

"No, no," Lana limped over to the chair. After sitting she undid the buttons down the front of her dress, each white one stiff against her fingers. "Leliana prepared me for this, it's nothing fancy but should suffice..." She had to stand again to work the dress off her hips. It wasn't much by any means, a dark blue band that cut off at the middle of her ribs with straps barely an inch thick. It was a wonder they could hold up her breasts, but some magic seemed to be at work to hoist her perkier than she remembered even in her twenties. The bottom part of the suit was just her smalls in the same dark blue color.

Lana reached down to snatch up her dress, but her legs seized up. Glancing upward at Cullen, she began to ask, "Would you mind...?" Her words trailed off at the way he seemed lost in her, no doubt taking in the new scars etched upon her stomach, or the sunken muscles of her legs. It wasn't the pervasive need Reynard tried to project, but a gobsmacked approval radiating off his face. "Cullen?"

"What? I..." he pinched his nose to bring himself back, "Right, dress, I can help with that." Dropping to the floor, he snatched it up and rather neatly folded it before adding it to the chair pile. At her look, he smiled, "Don't act surprised. I had chores to perform as well."

Lana glanced back at the water waiting for her in the pool. She'd been dreading it ever since the elf made the suggestion, a deep in her bones kind of dread. All of last night her dreams filled with water either overrunning itself out of a tub, lapping up through the stones in Vigil's Keep, or spurting from her fingers and never stopping. It grew so bad, she at best got a few hours of sleep, her mind relentlessly waking her as if she was drowning.

"I don't know if..." She started turning back to Cullen and all sense flew from her brain. He slid off his trousers to reveal the tiniest pair of white smalls she'd seen in years cupping his oh so tempting bulge. Sweet holy Maker, his thighs popped from him bending over to pick up the kicked off pants and Lana felt a squeak rolling in the back of her throat. If he turned around giving her a view of his tight buns, she knew she was going to die right there on her feet.

Cullen didn't look over at her struggling to breathe or make sense in the world, he calmly folded his trousers up and added them to the pile. He knew, he had to know that she was stricken dumb from the sight of his glorious flesh and was relishing in it. Well, he did deserve it and Maker knew Lana had no intentions of stopping. Her fingers crawled up his arm, following the line of blonde hair up to his bicep, which she felt harden to steel below her fingers. Trying to not "Ep" right then and there, she rose up on her toes and placed her lips against his cheek. Moving swiftly, Cullen turned his head and met her for a kiss. She hadn't felt this much skin against her own naked flesh in two years. When his hand cupped her cheek, his lips parting to find her tongue, the idea of leaping on top of him in the deck chair overloaded her mind.

As if aware of her libido's plans, Cullen broke the kiss and chuckled, "You can't tempt me that easily. You need to swim."

Lana's head fell back and she groaned, "How do we even know if it will work?"

"That's why we try, and if it doesn't nothing lost, right?"

"So help me if you start in with the pep talks..." Lana threatened, waving a finger near him.

Chuckling, he cupped it and then took her hand in his. "I promise, you'll get none from me." She nodded at that, accepting his word, then cast a sidelong glare at the water. "Why are you so bothered by it? Did you never learn...?"

"I can swim," she interrupted, aware of what he was thinking. "I had to spend a lot of time on ships for travel, I figured I should learn in case, you know..." she mimed a giant squall squashing a boat.

"Okay," he backed down from his assumption, "then why don't you want to?"

Screwing up her nose, she sneered at the silent water waiting for her, "What if I...can't?" Turning back to him, Lana felt an urge to bury her face in his chest and never come back, "What if I try and my arms won't work and my legs fail and I...I can't, I never can again? What if I'm too broken?"

"Lana," he wrapped his hands around her, his fingers combing through her short hair. "I...have faith in you."

"Faith can't cure me," she shot back, then grimaced at her dour words. He believed, but she wasn't so certain anymore. No, she was never certain at any point in her life in either Andraste or the Maker.

Cullen didn't rear back, nor did he stop caressing her hair, "Not faith alone, but if we put in the work, take the time to heal, then it might get better."

"And if it doesn't?" she asked the words that'd been sitting in her heart since she failed to step out of the chamber under her own power.

"Then we think of a new plan to get you around," he cupped his hands against her cheeks and pulled her away from his chest to look into his eyes. A soft smile turned up his lips, "Perhaps Honor could pull you in a cart. I'm certain she'd adore it."

Lana snorted at the idea, and dropped her head lower so her forehead skimmed against his chest, "Okay, you're right. Might as well try it and see." As her eyes stared down at the slip of white fabric straining from his bulge, a question rose in her mind. "Cullen, where did you get those smalls from?"

"Ah, well," he rubbed the back of his neck and almost stumbled away in embarrassment, "I have a few pairs in case of emergency reasons."

"And you knew to bring them, wait, why did you say they wouldn't have any bathing suits in your size...? Holy Maker," Lana's hands flew up to her mouth from shock causing Cullen's eyes to widen in dread, "You've been to a spa before."

"It..."

"You, you-you, Commander of the Inquisition, once templar, grouchy about anything Orlesian, came to a spa in Val Royeaux," she shook her head, trying to whip sense into it.

"It's not what..." he waved his hands around in a circle almost whacking himself in his perturbation, "I had to attend one once, only once, at the behest of the Inquisitor. For Inquisition purposes."

"Uh huh."

He glowered down at her, his sneer snapped into place, "Would I willingly whittle away my hours here unless it was for the good of thedas?"

"I don't know," she said unable to bury her smirk at his discomfort for being caught, "there could be a softer side you've kept buried deep under your armor all these years."

"Maker's breath," he sighed, tenting his fingers over his forehead like a helm, "I am never going to hear the end of this."

"It's rather cute, if that helps," Lana tried to cheer him up. "I'd never been asked to a spa before, even as the Hero of Ferelden. People tend to get jumpy about a mage being so close to them, add in the warden mystique and, well..."

Cullen grumbled, but his sneer faded to a general scowl, "I did not wish to...there were a few extenuating circumstances that... Will there ever come a time when I stop embarrassing myself in front of you?"

"Sweet Andraste, I hope not," she cried, "you get the most adorable blush when you're all flustered."

"And you are...trying to distract me so you don't have to swim. It will not work, Lady Amell."

"Fine," she folded her arms together, accepting that his damn iron will wasn't about to rust from a few embarrassing moments. Turning to face the water, Lana limped towards the pool's edge. When she reached it, she spoke impishly, "Did the slippers fit during your first spa visit?"

"There were none, now get in the water." He was all business now, the adorable bumbling erased by the Commander. She should probably feel flush from the powerful presence in his voice, but fear dampened down any spring in her libido. Lowering herself to the ground, Lana let her legs up to the knees rest in the water. She had to admit, the warmth circling them felt invigorating.

"What now, boss?" she asked, turning to find him pick up her cane and place it safely against the wall.

"So it doesn't get wet," he explained and she nodded. Cullen stepped closer, his hand glancing across her shoulder. He paused at the water's edge and without any trepidation leapt in. Lana shrieked at the splash breaking over her face and down her chest, which quickly transformed into a laugh. The water circled around the middle of Cullen's chest, seeming to bisect him into one half tantalizing dry templar, and one part enticing wet. He bent over backwards to dip his hair into the pool, and then snapped upward, whipping the excess through the marble baths.

  
*

"All right," he parted his hands, "your turn."

"I..."

"I'll catch you so it's not too jarring," he assured her while stepping closer.

"If you're sure..." Lana closed her eyes and tried to strangle the part of her screaming that she was about to ruin everything. Pushing off her hands, her body slid off the stone ground right into the waiting pool. Water slithered up her body, far past her chest and heading towards her neck, when Cullen's hands locked under her armpits. Holding her tight, she kicked her feet a few inches above the floor. With a wicked smile, she said, "As the sapper said to his wife, 'Well, I'm in. Now what?'"

"Maker's breath, where did you hear that one?"

"Varric," she said, getting a full groan from him. Lana giggled at the ferocity of his disapproval of the dwarf, aware that there had to have been some kind of mutual respect even if Cullen never wanted to be trapped in the same room as the new Viscount. "I think you can drop me," Lana said, her toes still wiggling through the water.

"Ah, right," the blush that was never far away curled up both his cheeks and that taut, exposed stomach. Before Lana could get any ideas to try and trail that strip of blonde hair further down his body, Cullen lowered her towards the bottom of the pool. She gritted her teeth in anticipation of the same pain that always jarred up her legs whenever she rose to her feet, but only a glimmer of it whimpered through her calves. Testing her weight out, she extended her legs a bit, and struggled to keep her head above the surface.

Lana tipped her head back, the level darting dangerously close to her chin which received a gentle laugh from Cullen. "I forget how short you are, sometimes."

"Oh yes, it's so funny," she grumbled, "perhaps we should try exploring through tight quarter caves next."

She expected him to grumble but Cullen's fingers caressed down her submerged shoulders, "If it'd help you, I'll crawl upon my stomach."

"That, uh," Lana dropped lower into the water, only her nose skimming the surface as she tried to cool off the blush burning from the sincerity wafting off him. The fact he meant every word slightly terrified and thrilled her. After collecting herself, she bobbed up and asked, "What do I do now?"

"Walk, I suppose?" he kept his hands near her for fear that she might suddenly pitch forward and drown herself, but Lana didn't need them. Despite being nearly fully underwater, there was a surprising lightness to her bones, as if some of the weight of the world was pulled free. Shuffling at first, Lana moved towards the end of the pool, her arms digging through the warm water circling her wake. Cullen followed close beside for a few laps, those honey eyes trailing her move and she suspected occasionally wandering down the ample cleavage exposed by her swimming band. Not that she could blame him, she had to keep her focus straight ahead or she'd risk walking right into a wall from the acres of delectable skin he had on display.

After managing three laps back and forth, Cullen spoke up, "What if you try swimming now?"

That earned him a glare, "What if you try climbing the walls?" While there was a strange cushioning for her in the water, she could feel the threat waiting for her on the horizon. If she wasn't careful, if she stepped too far or too fast it could all come crashing down.

Cullen held his hands up, "I am only suggesting you try."

Maker, she had to fall for an eternal problem solver. It was heartwarming how much he threw himself into helping her, but Andraste's flames, did he have to put so much effort into it at the same time? She needed to find him a hobby, maybe something to do with Honor? Did Orlesians require instruction in the matters of combat from a man and his mabari?

"It might help to stretch the underused muscles. Firm them up and..."

Lana paused in the water and crossed her arms under it, "You've been talking to Leliana haven't you? She kept threatening to bring in this famous healer from I don't remember where, who had all these insane theories to fix me. Leeches, he wanted me to swallow leeches, while they were still alive."

"I," Cullen grimaced at the leech mention, "I'm not saying you should consume parasites, unless it's on the menu and we can't avoid it, but... Lana, it could help."

"So could summoning a demon, but you don't see me throwing that idea out," she stormed, growing more belligerent. She meant it as hyperbole but a strain echoed along Cullen's features, one he did his best to paper over, but she caught it and mentally slapped herself for it. Maker, out of all the people in thedas, he's the last one you want to go mentioning demons to. From the pain burrowing in the back of her brain upon thinking of them, she began to suspect she was the second.

Sliding closer to him, Lana wrapped her arms around his waist. His slick skin melded against hers, and she tugged herself into a hug. "All right, if it'll make you feel better I'll attempt swimming, but...you have to do something for me."

"Anything," he volunteered, but at the mischief glimmering in her eye, his enthusiasm faded, "What is it?"

"Tell me about your first trip to the spa, and don't skimp on the details."

"Lana, I really don't think..." his arm burst from the water, scattering drops over the calm surface, so he could ruffle his wet hair. "It was not that interesting."

"Nope, that's how it works," she slid away from him to find her own pitiful lane. "As long as you're talking, I'll swim. But the moment the story stops, so do I. Do we have a deal?"

"I...uh," Cullen's amber eyes darted around the pool as if he'd find some other excuse waiting in the empty room. "Fine," he crumpled inward, making it obvious that he was not pleased about this occurrence.

Lana smiled at him and waved her hands in the water. She did know how to swim, and knew exactly three ways to go about it. The crawl was right out, bursting the surface with her weary muscles was next to impossible now, never mind while propelling herself onward. And while mabari paddling could get her back and forth, she feared she'd never live it down in front of him. That only left one option. Sliding down, Lana readied herself, then glanced over.

"Well, are you going to talk or do I stand here?"

"Maker's breath, I...very well. This occurred in the earlier days of the Inquisition, before you, uh..."

"Came back into your life," she answered. Good on her word, Lana kicked off of the ground. She kept her head above the water to listen to Cullen's story and because she wasn't the best at the whole holding her breath parts. Suffocating had a habit of drawing forth nightmares for her. With her hands cupped near her chest she drew them out to propel herself down the pool before drawing them back to begin again. The warden who taught her how to breaststroke about had a heart attack every time he had to mention the word, but it served her well.

"Yes, I, that's one way to look at it." He was stalling, doing his best to say nothing while still talking. To show she knew, Lana slowed down, her arms extending as if she intended to float upon the water. Sighing at her, Cullen pinched his nose and continued. "I forget why I was in Val Royeaux, but the Inquisitor was the one who invited me to a meeting. Thinking little of it, we'd been taking them all day to assist in reviving Skyhold, I arrived dressed in my usual armored attire at a spa similar to this one."

"Bet the patrons practically shat themselves..." Lana mused, spinning around and turning back to the other side. "Oh Maker, don't tell me you had your sword with you?"

"Of course I did, I saw no reason not to. Thinking it had to be some mistake, I attempted to extricate myself before every man and woman relaxing in towels in the foyer had time to gawp at me. But that damn mage spotted me."

"You'll have to be a bit more specific, I remember a lot of 'damn mages' in the Inquisition," Lana said. She misjudged the dip of her hands and pulled her chin lower, dragging her mouth below the surface. Water rushed down her throat, and she sputtered, coughing it out as far as she could.

Cullen glanced over, but didn't rush to rescue her. He seemed content to let her swim her way to health, "The Tevinter one, in this case." Lana giggled at the way he didn't say Dorian's name. "He sweeps me up and begins chattering away with all the certainty his countrymen posses. I'm trying to get a question in, but his mouth has become unhinged and he cannot stop the spray of words."

"I found Dorian rather delightful," Lana said, "egocentric of course, but he is a Tevinter magister."

"Yes, he certainly delighted in finding new and interesting ways to get under my skin," Cullen groaned.

"Ah," a moment of realization struck Lana, and Cullen whipped a question at her, but she waved it away. Her suspicion could wait until his story was finished. "Please, continue, unless I'm also done swimming."

"Are you tired?" he asked.

"Nope," she shook her head, surprised to find that generally true. The ache was minor compared to her normal ones, and she felt as if she could keep this going for a good half hour or so more.

Cullen leaned back on his heels and crossed his arms, "I'm led to the Inquisitor and some Duke, or Viscount, or, Maker, it doesn't matter. They're both relaxing up to their necks in a bubbling hot spring. I'd heard of them before but had never seen one. It was interesting, unlike using runes here it had some underground lava connections the dwarves dug in."

"How'd they maintain the temperature range so as not to scald anyone?" Lana asked before grimacing. He knew her damn curiosity would trip her up and stall his story.

"I rather doubt they bothered, perhaps an elf would dump a bucket of cold water to combat it if it grew too great. I could always go and ask..."

"Nice try, but story," she interrupted his attempts to drag Reynard back inside. Maker, if he was going to the trouble of drawing that man's attention, his story must be something else.

"Very well," Cullen swallowed. With his chin jutted out and his arms behind his back, he bore a striking resemblance to a statue someone would put guarding the entrance to their hidden lair. Lana wasn't certain if he was even aware he was doing it. "I assumed we could get the matter discussed and over right then and there, and pulled a chair similar to those towards the edge, when one of the attendants appeared."

Cullen paused, and rotated his neck, "He insisted all who entered the hot springs area had to be dressed in the same skin tight bathing attire on those racks. I objected, rather, um..."

"You glowered until the poor kid nearly pissed himself?" Lana said, getting a chuckle.

"He had enough presence to not do that, but there was a marked timidness on his part. No, the problem was the damn mage. Throwing his arms wide, he ran a wet finger to curl his mustache and remarked, 'Why Commander, when in Orlais do as the Orlesians do. It's not as if you'll melt once you hit the water, correct? Or do all Fereldens fear water the same as your hounds? It would explain the smell.'"

She couldn't bury the snort from the way Cullen tried to mimic Dorian's voice before growling. Lana called out, "It is a wonder you didn't haul off and clobber him right then and there."

"I'm growing soft," he grumbled, but there was a small smile in it, "The Inquisitor tried to give me an out, attempting to call Dorian off, but then the Count or whomever insisted that there be no work done until everyone was in his blasted pool."

"What did you do?"

"What could I do? There were a good dozen people staring at me now, the Inquisitor's steely gaze, the Count's boisterous paddling the water, and that damn mage laughing behind his ridiculous mustache." Cullen's story paused and he looked dead on at Lana, "You're right, I should have hauled up Dorian by the back of his robes and tossed him out of there without a second thought."

"I never said that's exactly what you should have done," Lana tried to cover for herself, but if she'd been in his place she's probably have done just that with the help of a little magic.

"So, I look to the attendant turning whiter and whiter with every word, and ask for one of the damn bathing suits to change into. Simple, yes? He barely glances at me before whispering that they no longer had any in my size."

Lana's hand banged into the pool wall, startling her. She became so enraptured in Cullen's story, she didn't realize she'd swam another two lengths. His eyes trailed over her at the splash and his tale faded away. Waving her offending hand at him, she smiled and turned back, resuming her swim. He, in turn, revived his story.

"I did my best to back out of it, pointing out that if there was no suit then I couldn't join them. Which was when the blighted mage spoke up once again. 'Well, there's nothing stopping you from reclining in the nude.' Maker, I think the only reason I didn't rip his mustache off was because I melted into a puddle on the floor. The Inquisitor sputtered and tried to insist that it wasn't necessary, but the Count seemed invested in the idea. 'Nude or not, we're not starting any talks until everyone's in here.'"

Cullen paused to cradle his head in his hands. She wanted to run her fingers over the muscles straining across his arms and...Maker, those thighs. Taut with that curve down the sides that could make for the perfect firm pillow. Was she always a leg person? She couldn't remember caring before but at the rate her libido kept notching up she was liable to start craving his earlobes.

"I had no intentions to get nude, and the Count refused to budge. Which was when the Inquisitor suggested I at least strip to my smalls."

"Oh no," Lana sputtered, her head drifting lower underwater as her hands failed to adjust.

"I don't blame him, it's not as if he would know the truth."

"Maker's breath, I hope not," she gasped, but couldn't shake the smile off from her little needling of him.

Cullen groaned, sliding his shimmering foot back and forth over the mermaid tiles. "Do not start with that, I heard enough of the insinuations from...it doesn't matter. Without knowing about you, plenty of people preferred to assume my tastes ran...well," he shrugged.

"Yeah, I got that a lot too," Lana admitted.

"Really? Even with the king and..." Cullen blinked in surprise, but he managed to get his little sneer in at mentioning Alistair. She was coming to expect it now.

"Apparently if at any time you're not either madly in love with, pursuing, or curing your heart from losing someone you must be deep in denial about your true nature. And gossiping about your commander is the number one favorite pastime for soldiers."

"Do not remind me," he scrunched his whole face up in such a way, it drew Lana's attention. Perhaps she should ask Leliana about some of the rumors that would have circulated about the Commander of the Inquisition. They could prove enlightening. Cullen's eyes opened and he pointed at her, "You've stopped."

"So have you," she said, her weary feet bouncing on the bottom of the pool. "Unless there's more to the story then I suppose I'll get out..."

"Keep swimming, there's more."

She wasn't entirely thrilled about beginning again, a pain digging into the back of her shoulders that she didn't think possible, but by the Maker she had to hear the end of this. As Lana paddled on past, her waning limbs slipping into the hated mabari style, Cullen continued.

"With Maker knows how many people looking at me, I began to strip. I swear I hadn't done anything so humiliating since I was fifteen. The surcoat, armor, bracers, tunics, all of that was easy. Sliding off my boots, no problem, off went the sword belt and that's when I paused. Two choices before me, neither of which I ever wanted to dwell upon..." he paused, and Lana turned to face him, enthralled beyond measure. For all his grumblings about Varric he seemed to have a bit of a storyteller's instincts as well. "And I decided to climb into the pool with my trousers on."

Lana giggled madly, water bubbling out of her mouth from the glee. "Maker, that had to be...What did you do when you got out?"

"Facing a day walking back to our lodgings with soaking wet breeches was preferable to...the other option. But that wasn't the worst part, no, the humiliation refused to end because in my haste to get it over with, I failed to take into account the air trapped between my legs and the fabric."

"Oh no," Lana's limbs slowed and she gently crested to a full stop. With her freed hand she cupped her mouth to try and hide the smile as she tried to ply Cullen only with sympathy. But he caught on to her ruse and only sighed.

"Yes, I essentially had two air bladders attached to my legs while trying to act as professional as possible to secure...I can't even bloody remember what we needed from the man. It was the cream on top of my day and why I came prepared this time." His fingers drifted down the far too narrow strip of fabric around his hips. It drew Lana's eyes and she had to swallow back a groan from the view. While he may have thought to wear his own backups, he sort of forgot about the fact that white fabric washed translucent in water. She jammed her hand into her mouth and bit down on the fleshy palm to keep from squealing at his smalls suckered tight against his so tempting cock.

"What?"

"Nothing," Lana snapped her head up and shook it. Sliding through the water to cut off her view lest she do something her exhausted body may come to regret later, Lana ran her fingers over his arms. Okay, the taut flexing of his forearms wasn't helping her state either. "Nothing at all, I...uh," she felt the blush rising to match her internal one.

Needing something to distract him before it got awkward, Lana spoke her suspicion. "I think I know why Dorian set you up like that."

"Because he gets his thrills from humiliating anyone in his vicinity."

"No, I think he was trying to win his bet with Varric about your underclothes. And he probably paid off the attendant to claim there were no suits that would fit you."

Cullen's eyes slipped closed and he snorted once. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled Lana across the pool into his enticing embrace. She gladly succumb to it, her head resting upon his naked chest. "So, exactly as I said," he chuckled before pressing his lips against her wet hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted," she sighed. There was a burning rising up through her legs and from the edge of one wrist across her chest to the other.

"Would you like to get out?"

"Oh, now I'm free to leave," she mockingly placed a hand on her hip but, in truth, deep in her gut she didn't want to. Curled up in his naked arms, with his naked chest suckered to hers, and his naked thighs doing distracting thigh things she wanted to stay in the pool until all of her skin pruned up. Then her chin dipped down and she started from water bubbling into her mouth.

"I take it that's a yes," he said, already lifting her up in his arms and walking her towards the steps out of the pool.

"In my defense, I barely slept last night," Lana said. Her weary hand reached out to grab onto the guide bar and she placed one foot above her onto the stairs. Andraste, it was like she was trying to crawl out of the fade all over again, the water attempting to drag her back down to its depths. But this time she had Cullen helping to hoist her out. His hands cupped along her waist and as she moved up each of the steps, his fingers drifted lower down her hips. By the time she stepped away, his hands fell slack against the water. Lana made it to the edge on her own and smiled. Glancing over her shoulder, she was about to boast that fact when the blush in her stomach increased tenfold.

Cullen stared up at her the same way he had after their first time in the deeproads. She'd been about the average level of self conscious about her body, aware of the areas that puckered in strange shapes and the detractions. But when he looked at her as if he couldn't imagine glancing at another woman, she felt like the most beautiful woman in thedas. Blessed Andraste, she did not deserve him.

Rising from his stupor, Cullen realized she caught him leering and he stumbled backwards. A hand whipped out of the pool, aiming for his awkward spot behind the neck, which sprayed water at her and then his face. "I, uh, was thinking I might put in a few laps myself before we head home. Are you okay to move to the chair? Do you need me to get you any towels?"

"Nope," she smiled brightly, "I've got two robes I can throw on while I watch you." He gasped once, his own blush rising up as her eyes took the time to savor him. Bobbing his head, Cullen sank deep into the pool and swam properly, his hands rhythmically breaking the surface to propel him onwards. True to her word, Lana threw on both her robe and then his for warmth, as she settled onto the deck chair. Exhausted from the trials and wrapped in the warmth of cuddly cloth, she felt sleep knocking for her, but she couldn't sleep, not now. The Commander of the Inquisition, wearing only tiny see-through small clothes was swimming back and forth below her and she was the only one allowed to witness such a magnificent sight. She wasn't going to miss a single minute.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Cullen drawing was created by [Space_aged](http://voidtakeyou.tumblr.com) and then I slapped some color on it for funsies.


	7. Wednesdays

_To L___ _M____

_C/O Blank Blank Blankity Blank Blank_

 

_(Note from Leliana: Can you ask Hawke to not be so cryptic? I assumed this was from one of my spies in Kirkwall and had an entire team at work to decode it before realizing is was for you. They lost five days trying to crack her doodles in the margins.)_

> Long time since I sent you a letter. In fact, I don't know if I've ever sent you a letter. Well, first time for everything, eh? Heard you buggered on off to Val Royeaux. _N_E_S says hi, then some other magicy things about the fade, but mostly hi. I won't put down all he said because I stopped listening. I'm technically back in Kirkwall, though no one's supposed to know about it. So shh... People are still a bit tetchy here after the whole chantry go boom fiasco, but Varric asked for my help and here I am. Had to leave you know who somewhere else in the mean time. Turns out there are a few Warden safe houses around here.
> 
> I don't want to worry you Cuz, but he's been getting twitchy lately. Been seeing the _other one_ a lot more, if you catch my meaning. No idea why, it doesn't even rant and rave about injustice like usual. Only hangs around like it's waiting for something to happen. Maybe I'm imagining it and nothing bad's gonna happen for years. Wouldn't that be nice for a change? Everyone sit down and be good for a decade or I'm turning thedas around!
> 
> Varric wants to know if you've got any good stories to tell about the fade. I told him to shut up and not ask you because it's not polite. He may still do it if you ever meet up again. Which raises up my next question, what're you doing in Valley of the Royals anyway? Skyhold ain't my favorite of places in thedas, but I figured since you're in heart eyes with its Commander you'd be recovering there. I'd already planned to send my homemade care package there when Varric stomps in and tells me that word on the deep down low is you headed to Orlais. Then he made me throw the care package away because it was buzzing. Look, it ain't my fault that the bees hadn't finished making honey before it was ready.
> 
> I know we had that talk, and you said you chose to stay behind for your own reasons that somehow meant I didn't fail you, but you better get better or so help me I will stand over your bed and shout at you until you do. I'm tired of losing family. Give a hearty pat on the back to Cullen for me. Though I'm guessing you two are up to a bit more than that given free range in the Grand Cathedral. Ever done it on the altar? Isabella claims she did once, but I don't believe her. How could you lay down on the thing without impaling yourself on the sword in the middle? I guess if you straddled the bowl of fire but then you're in danger of setting your hair aflame.
> 
> It's funny, when I first met that awkward, bumbling templar too terrified to talk to the prostitutes at the Rose, something told me to keep an eye on him. There are people that just keep bobbing back up to into your life no matter how far you travel across thedas, you know. Like the Maker or someone else up there wants you to find 'em, to like 'em. To save 'em. Eh, I should stop drinking this "Elder Jessup's Tonic" makes me sound all philosophical.
> 
> I tried to include drawings of some of the last dragons I ran into, but I'm not sure if I captured their epicness enough. They were very epically epic, I can assure you. Varric tells me epicness isn't a word, but what does he know? Authors are the worst proof readers.

 

_The Bird of the Wall_

_(That's Hawke if you couldn't tell)_

 

 

_To Hawke_

_C/O The Viscount of Kirkwall_

 

> Cousin, I don't think you need to rely upon such stealthy subterfuge in your letters. Leliana has a firm grip upon what comes in and out of the chantry, which should surprise none who know her. She also asks that you either label your doodlings or create more elaborate ones to give her codebreakers something to work for.
> 
> My healing is progressing well. After a suggestion from our new assistant Detan, I've spent every other day this past week swimming in a spa. Maker, I wish you could attend with me sometimes if only to see the dropped jaws and scattered fans of Orlesians at your imposing presence. It's entertaining enough when I waltz in with a mabari at my hip. Honor's been acting as my concierge and occasional balance when I need it. She also adores the chance to leap belly first into the pool and splash around. For a time, Cullen came as well but he grows more busy with each passing day and rather grouchy when being surrounded by gawking Orlesians. No doubt by now word has reached, if not you, certainly Varric that he's leaving the Inquisition. I am uncertain what that fully means for him, for, I suppose, me. Yes, yes, I can see your knowing smirk in the Orlais all the way from the Marches. We have intentions to remain together through whatever change is coming to our lives, we're only uncertain what that all entails. If you have any ideas I'm all eyes.
> 
> I am uneasy to hear about Anders and Justice. We know so little of possession, and less of the fade, that I cannot fathom a guess at what is drawing his current condition out. Perhaps it will pass, or Maker willing, Anders will gain control. Still, I may be able to secure a few connections to the mage college through Leliana. There'd been some talk of research into possession before the rebellions. It related to tranquility, but a starting point is better than non

 

Lana drew her quill away from the unfinished word. With barely a flick of her wrist, she dipped the sharp end back into the ink bottle and returned. While her mind managed up another sentence, nothing appeared on the page. "Blasted, out again," she cursed to herself. They'd been tearing through the bottles lately, which -- she had to give Detan her kudos -- she managed to keep them well stocked. During Lana's days in the Vigil there were often times the seneschal would beg her to slow down on letters and paperwork because the ink makers couldn't brew it fast enough. They rarely had to worry about vellum because of the damn hides she was always dragging home. It seemed as if all of the wildlife in thedas had it out for the mage.

Rising out of the chair, Lana stepped away from their dining table. She didn't have too many regrets turning the office over to Cullen because it kept him from keeping boxes piled up all across their increasingly smaller apartments. The boxes seemed to appear overnight with Detan directing more and more to every available corner. When Honor had to lay down on a pile to get comfortably, Cullen began stashing them in the office. Snatching up her empty ink bottle, Lana rolled it through her fingers as she walked towards the back office.

While she wasn't about to start running across thedas in pursuit of darkspawn, it felt good to be able to step across the floor without needing any magic shoring up her legs. At best, Lana could manage a dozen steps before she had to sit, but progress should be celebrated - or so Leliana insisted. With the ink bottle extended as if she was bellying up to a bar, Lana stepped into the office.

Cullen stood to the side of the desk, both hands splayed out over the top, while Honor rested under his feet. In fact, she was so near she had her chin laying upon his boot. Her owner didn't seem to notice as he was glaring down at a stack. His fingers reached towards the edge when sounds of broken glass shattered the air followed by a "Damn it!" Honor's head shot up, the rest of her leaping to her feet. It wasn't the fallen bottle knocked off the desk that disturbed her but Cullen's curse.

He leaned over at the shattered glass and let slip a few more blasphemes before digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Are you okay?" Lana asked. He must not have heard her enter as Cullen jumped a moment, his hands instinctively reaching for a sword that wasn't there.

After taking a deep breath at recognizing her, he sneered and bent over to pick up the glass shards. "It is nothing, an accident. What brings you in here?"

"I ran out of ink in trying to write a letter to Hawke," Lana explained as she slid closer. Most of Cullen was eclipsed by the desk as he dropped to a knee to pick up the scattered pieces onto a stack of papers.

"Humph, I heard about her mythic code that none of Leliana's people could crack."

"Turns out it was a picture of a dragon, or so Hawke claimed. Knowing her, there's a good chance it is some unbreakable code that leads to ancient treasure or curses. Perhaps both," Lana paused at the desk to steady herself on it. "I would not put it past my cousin."

"True," Cullen agreed, rising up with the papers laden in glass. "She was beyond understanding even before becoming the Champion. Sometimes I wonder about the rest of your..." Trembling like a newborn kitten in the snow, his hands quaked without control, sending the glass leaping off the papers. "Maker damn it!" he groaned, letting the rest scatter from his still shaking hands.

Cullen planted his elbows on the desk and collapsed his head into his hands. Softly, Lana ran her fingers over the back of his neck waiting for him to explain. Great gulps of air drew into his mouth as she picked at the curls knotted against his nape. Glass glittered in the blue and green sunlight streaming from the stained glass window. Slowly, the shaking in his hands died and he rose up. Yellow tinged his skin a sunken sallow, while his eyes were streaked in red spots on the edges from an obvious strain upon his entire body.

"Do you want to sit down?" Lana suggested, pointing at the chair before realizing it was covered in books. Trying to not purse her lips, she pointed towards the sitting room, "On the divan?"

"I..." he staggered a foot towards her and had to lash out quickly to catch his fall. Before he could say a word against it, Lana wound her hands around his forearm and tapped into the fade. Her tongue tasted of blue as she weaved as much healing energy as she dared into him.

"Lana, you shouldn't waste..."

"It's a good day for me. I don't need it but you do," she insisted, already pulling her finished magic out. While she was skilled enough to nearly revive someone close to death, even her strongest healing spells could only grant Cullen a brief reprieve. Something in the templar's body worked counter to magic itself when she fought against the lyrium or lack there of. "Here," Lana tried to wrap his hand around her shoulder, but regretted it the moment an ounce of his weight fell upon her.

"Uh, I'm all right. I can walk out." Whether from her magical help or pure stubbornness, Cullen rose up and moved towards the divan. For once it wasn't covered in books or scrolls. Only Lana's blanket coated the cushions, which Cullen didn't bother to pick up as he sank into them, hands clutching tight to his wan face.

She followed close behind, as did Honor. Despite having the full energy quota of a young mabari, Honor took it slow around Lana, always giving her time to pause and catch up. Even now with her master ahead, the dog still waited patiently for Lana to sit on the divan before flopping on the ground and exposing her belly. "Silly girl," Lana cooed, digging her foot into the soft tissue and smiling at Honor's joy. She risked a glance over at Cullen and while he was trying to paint on a smile it couldn't overcome the grit to his jaw. Maker, the strain upon him must have been something else.

Sitting up straight, Lana's fingers wrapped around his shoulders and without any fuss, she pulled his head into her lap. Cullen grumbled a few half hearted 'you need not bother's but he willingly succumbed to her arms. With his head stretched across her thighs, he slipped his eyes closed and gasped for air through his mouth. She knew that breathing technique he tried to do to calm himself. It seemed to be beyond his grasp this time, the edges wheezing through his nose with each exhale.

"Really bad this time?" she asked. With her fingers, she pushed away the curls swamped onto his sweaty brow and then began to massage it.

Cullen sneered again before trying to wall it away. She watched the same arguments play out over his features. _'I shouldn't bother you with this. It's nothing. I'll endure.'_ Each one Lana had a retort to and he knew it. With his eyes shut tight, he whispered, "It must be Wednesday."

"I..." that was new. Lana glanced around as if there was a chantry calendar in the apartment. "I believe so?"

"Wednesdays are..." those honey eyes rolled open and she stared down into the depths of his full pain for once trawled to the surface. Lana had to fight down the urge to wrap her chest around him, as if she could somehow protect him from the suffering under his own skin. Cullen swallowed, his throat hoarse from the eternal dry mouth, and he started again, "They are when I relapse the worst. Especially after lunch."

Sliding to his side, Cullen stared out across the apartment while Lana dug into his curls, trying to soothe him by ruffling up his hair. "Every Wednesday the templars would receive their ration of lyrium. Most would drink it once it was given, but I..." a brittle sigh broke up his words, "I would save it until after the noon meal under some misguided belief that having that much control meant I could fully overcome its deleterious effects."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, uncertain what, if anything, to say.

His hand gripped onto her knee and squeezed, "I keep thinking I'm past it, that I don't need to maintain a constant vigil upon myself, but...that's a lie."

"If Alistair hadn't--" she cursed.

"No, I...that didn't help, but even after," he steadied his breath, "three years without and I could still lose control of my hands, find my legs stiff without cause, and-and feel the thirst in my very veins. I am uncertain if I'll ever be free of it."

"Oh, Cullen," she had no idea how to respond beyond wiping her fingers over his forehead and curling his hair back behind his ear.

"Now you know the full of it. How long do you think you can suffer someone who despises rainstorms, and Wednesdays, or will grow discordant for no obvious reason?"

Steadying her own waning body, Lana bent at the waist and placed her lips against his forehead. It burned next to her cool skin and she kissed him twice more before answering, "For as long as I breathe."

A gasp rattled in his throat, and Cullen's hand drifted down her knee to cup against her calf. He wrung his fingers against it as if he needed to massage her, or perhaps perform some duty to make up for his failings. That idea stung her anew and she tried to wrap an arm around his chest, cuddling him tighter.

"I'm frightened," stuttered out of him so whisper quiet she almost thought she imagined it. "When I first made the choice to free myself from lyrium there was..." Cullen swallowed, the edge of his throat cracking even more, "if I failed, whether I returned to the addiction or perished, it didn't matter. No one needed me to succeed, to prove it could be done, to live. Then Corypheus rose and..."

He fell into an imposed silence, his fingers prodding at her knee. "What happened?" she asked, suspecting he needed to say what stuck in his throat.

"There was a point when I, the pressure of failure...knowing that if I wasn't strong enough we could have lost the entire world, all of that drew forth a bad turn." He paused and then snorted a mirthless laugh, "On another Wednesday I believe. Certain I couldn't continue on, I looked to Cassandra to relieve me, or..."

"Cullen?"

Sighing in his gut, he twisted further in her lap until his face hung towards the ground, "I asked the Inquisitor if I should not take lyrium again for the good of the Inquisition."

"What did he say?"

"He refused my request."

"Thank the Maker," Lana sighed. They'd never gotten on in a case of two big fish in a small pond, but an overwhelming gratefulness swept through her for the man. While he was pragmatic to a cold fault, there'd been a kindness in him few saw. Perhaps she should send him a fruit basket in thanks; everyone loves those.

Cullen smiled, the edges of his cheeks visible to her, "Once Corypheus was dealt with and the pressure off, I...I returned to the thought that if I had another bad turn that I couldn't rise from, at least no one was counting on me. No one needed me."

Unable to stem the pain knocking in her stomach, a few tears slid down Lana's cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away before he noticed, but she couldn't pull her hands off of him, needing to hold him.

"And now..." he turned in her lap and looked right up at her. His hand graced her cheek and she leaned into it, "I could lose everything I've ever dreamed of and that frightens me."

Gasping, Lana accepted there was no stopping the tears now. Each drop slid silently off her cheeks to pool where his skin met with hers. "I'm here with you. I...I don't know if that helps--"

"It does," he interrupted, his taciturn smile returning.

Lana crumpled up into her lap, her forehead skimming across his, "I love you, you know."

"You may have mentioned it a time or two," he answered before slipping his eyes closed and repeating, "I love you too. For, Maker, so long. It overwhelms my heart to think upon the breadth of time."

She understood, her own struggles in coming to terms with that fact drawing much from her. When does someone know they're in love? Was it the moment you first realize it, or should it be counted from the first true feeling? If so, then when did that occur for her? She carried him in her heart for far longer than Lana was even aware of.

"Lana," he drew his fingers down her cheek and repositioned himself in her lap. "Why did you select me in Kirkwall? You could have had your pick of templars in Ferelden who'd have been happy to serve the Hero of Ferelden, the one that rescued them from darkspawn and abominations."

"That's true," she admitted, never having thought about any of them. She was in a panic upon learning the truth of White and in her haste her mind offered up only one suggestion. "I-I spotted you, during the Qunari uprising when the Grey Wardens were trying to extricate ourselves without doing more harm and...there was a moment."

"A moment?"

"When I trusted you," she said, the words whispered to her mind from her heart. "When I didn't believe all the rumors and saw what I saw in you before."

"Oh..." he lapsed back into silence, but he kept his fingers curled around her face.

"Why did you agree to help me? It...I rather doubt Meredith approved, or the rest of the chantry."

It took a few minutes before he spoke, only his less ragged breathing punctuating the silence. "Because..." he smiled wistfully, "I was in love with you even then. Even knowing you were a mage, knowing there was no chance you would ever look at me. I loved you and...and needed to know you were safe."

Curling up as far as her abs allowed, Lana pressed her lips against his - soft and yielding to match him, the kiss sweeter than morning dew in buttercups. "I love you," she whispered, her mouth forming the words against his. He repeated the same, kissing with each word as if to stamp it upon her heart.

Her muscles finally gave up in agony, and regrettably Lana rose away from him. Cullen wasn't the only one facing the future of never recovering. "How are your hands?" she asked.

"Better," he flexed them over her thighs, "it's calmed a bit in my blood. The healing power of love?"

Lana snorted at the theory. "I knew more than a few mages who liked to float that idea, often with exaggerated eyebrow waggling and rib nudging. Sadly, there's no data to back up such claims."

"Oh."

"But..." Maker, she felt better having him in her arms, knowing he was holding her tight when her body turned against her and her days grew dark. Why wouldn't it be the same for him? "I love healing you, so, perhaps there's something to it after all. In a roundabout convoluted way, the rather incongruous hypothesis of if A equals B, B equals C, then C must equal A."

A snort echoed off her lap and Lana's musings faded away but she smiled at the soft chuckle shaking his shoulders. "I'm so glad I have you," he sighed, "no matter what it cost."

She ran her fingers down his shoulders and cupped his hands in hers. "Me too," Lana whispered. She hated that he felt he had to take the lyrium, that she could have cost him even a few days because of it, but Cullen needed to know she was grateful for it. That his sacrifice was worth it so he could keep heading towards the finishing line of healing.

"I should get up and..." he moved to rise, but Lana wrapped her hands around him.

"Rest here with me, for a few winks. Please?" she traced along the crow's feet building beside his eye, an entire nest already.

"In your lap? I...all right," he sighed, and carefully Cullen adjusted his head to get comfortable.

"I could grab a pillow, I know my thighs aren't very good for much of anything and..."

He curled his arms around her knees as if trying to tuck her closer to him, "Lana, it's perfect."

While her fingers pushed at his curls, she watched him drift away in her lap, a serenity filling her veins as she could hold him while he slept. Perhaps there was a truth to healing through love after all.


	8. Family

Cullen was entranced watching Lana stretch as high as she could, her head craned back and arms in the air while flakes of ice crystalized around her fingers. Instead of blasting the shards of ice through an enemy or freezing a darkspawn solid, she lightly rolled her fist and a ball of frozen water plopped into the planter dangling next to the stained glass window. With a wave of her other hand, she did something to the ice ball causing it to melt into the dirt, barely disturbing the silver and green herbage.

"Is that good for the plant? I could have watered it instead," he said, trying to peer into the pot holding the surprisingly lush adder's hiss.

Lana crossed her arms, "No, it's my plant and I'm going to take care of it." Glancing up at it dangling far from her reach, all her focus was on his blundered purchase while his was upon her. Deep in his heart, he feared that it'd be strange to find her no longer dressed in the typical mage robes, but those breezy dresses of hers grew on him. An ease slipped across her when she wore them, as if she was a young woman skipping through a summer meadow instead of hiding away from the growing breadth of winter in the Grand Cathedral.

It didn't hurt that the thinner fabric let him draw more achingly closer to her skin than any of the wool robes ever did. A secret smile turned up his lips and Cullen's mind slipped back to last night and the other kinds of magic her fingers cast.

Lana paused in prodding her stick at the plant to inspect the leaves, "It's spidering out faster than I expected. Going to need a bigger pot soon, and..." her eyes glanced over to him, "and why are you smiling like that?"

"Oh," he shifted back and forth on his feet, feeling self conscious in an instant for no discernible reason. It wasn't as if she didn't deserve to know the truth. "I was, uh, contemplating last night."

Her own bright smile lit up his heart. Limping towards him, she ran her delicate fingers in slow strokes across her chin. "Ah, of course. You're thinking of the time when my mage managed to claim your cleric. It was a master move."

"Not, um, not precisely no," Cullen tipped his head back to try and bury the blush. Winds whipping through Val Royeaux caused the sunlight to glitter across the ceiling, like their own personal stars. While he was distracted, Lana wrapped her arms around him, her frame slotting so easily against his as if she was meant to, as if she'd never left. As if the Maker designed them both to. Calm curled up to replace his embarrassment, as it always did whenever he held her. It was strange at times to think of how physically small she was, barely standing above the height of some thirteen year olds, but she bore such an imposing mark in his mind he often envisioned her as tall as her cousin. Perhaps even greater.

Lana's warm cheek burrowed against his shirt, barely buttoned to try and combat the heat rising from the burst of braziers in the chantry proper below. When her fingers began to draw down the collar, skimming his skin beneath, Cullen whispered in her ear, "In truth, I was thinking of when my Queen took your King."

"That's not precisely how I remember it going," she said, her endless brown eyes rolling open with nothing but joy dotted in them.

Dipping down, Cullen's lips darted close to hers, "I wasn't speaking of the game." He kissed her luscious mouth, his hands locking against the small of her back. As she tilted her head to match him to deepen the kiss, he couldn't stop fluffing at the bow tied behind her, yearning to tug on the end, slip his hands below the slack and caress every inch of her skin. Maker he wanted her, every vein in his body cried out for her, but...he pulled himself back, his hands sliding away from the bow to settle against her hips.

Lana slid down to her toes covered in a pair of socks with pompoms on the outside. Her fingers drifted up his neck to knot in his hair as she sighed, "I wasn't thinking of the chess game either. I'd say your King and Queen euphemism would require more, um, you know, active parts than what we, what I managed to..."

Reaching behind his head, Cullen threaded his fingers through hers and pulled them down to cup between their bodies. "It was good, and you're far more talented with your hands than you give yourself credit for."

She tried to wave his compliment away, but a smile lit up in her eyes. "You can thank magic for that. All that casting requires a great dexterity in your fingers."

"I should send a card to your old senior enchanters," he mused returning back to her for a kiss. Lana turned her delicate fingers in his and then yanked his hands behind her, pulling him in deeper. Aware of his need boiling below the surface, Cullen tried to slip his lower half back, but she had other plans. Gripping tight to his waist in a hug, her tiny body overpowered his. Dragging her fingers around the back of his waistband, she yanked up the ends of his shirt he took the time to tuck in and reached under. When her nails skirted across his flesh, all conscious thought in Cullen's brain melted away. He was dimly aware of the day, and his name, but the rest fled him as she worked higher up his back, caressing and scratching the unreachable parts along his spine.

"Sweet Maker," he gasped, leaning his hips away from her stomach. Lana's hands unfolded from under his shirt but he didn't back too far away, letting her rest her head agains his chest. _Maker,_ he smiled to himself threading though her hair, _this was perfect._ Happiness. Even with the mountains of work ahead of him, the restless nights and even more restless days as he worried about her out of his sight, happiness surrounded Cullen. It felt strange to be able to glance over at her and feel only joy, no buts or howevers trying to blot it away.

Curling a hand behind her head, he cupped the nape of her beautiful neck and began to gently sway. "I'm afraid I have no extensive training to prepare my fingers for much beyond latching onto a sword."

He expected a snort from his accidental innuendo, but Lana lifted her chin so her eyes could find his. "Are you fishing for a compliment because I thought I gave a ringing endorsement last night? I know it isn't everything we've done in the past, but..."

"Lana," he breathed deep, her head rising with his chest bringing her face closer to him, "it's enough for now. And, you're right, it can be fun to keep it simple, take our time and enjoy one another."

"I suppose," her lips turned down and her grip on him slackened without releasing. Cullen curled the back of his fingers down her soft cheek, each of his knuckles following the swoop of her lips as he waited. They were both learning to do that with each other. Taking a deep breath, Lana began, "It's that there are times I want you more than I...more than I've ever wanted anyone before. Then, boom, out of nowhere this debilitating fear rises."

"Is there anything I've done to...?"

"No," she interrupted him, her palms caressing the scruff against his cheeks, "Maker, no, you're wonderful. I can't explain it, I wish I could. I think I'm worried that that if I try my body will fail, I'll twist or break something and then...then it's all ruined. Which is stupid because in the matter of relationships, sex seemed to be the only part I ever got right."

"Lana," he tipped her head up and she gave in to him, "I understand. There was a time when I felt myself unclean for...anything, anyone I suppose. Not that I'm saying you do, nor should you. I only, I mean that...Andraste, I'm making it worse."

Shame and failure in equal measures curled up his stomach, but Lana smiled so sweetly both froze in their tracks before obliterating to dust. Taking his hands, she rose up on her strained toes and whispered, "No, you're making it so much better." With her lips parted, she kissed him sweetly and Cullen returned it with his same inelegant panache. But that seemed to make her love him even more, her tongue gently licking over her pillowy top lip from his unrestrained stubble pricking into it. After a quick smile, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rose up for another one when Detan appeared through the foyer into their sitting room.

"Ah, you are both here," she seemed agitated which threw Cullen off immediately. The elf was unflappable in nearly all matters. What could have gotten to her without a darkspawn attack upon the city?

"What is it?" Cullen asked, aware that his shoulders rose up to attention even with Lana dangling off him. Wrapping his hands around her waist, he tried to take her weight off her abused toes.

"Ser, someone has arrived who claims that she is..." Detan's steel eyes flickered down to her clipboard before darting back up, "she says that she has a relation to you that, um..."

"I'm his blighted sister," a voice cried out from behind the elf. Shoving past Detan with the same force that could get cows in line appeared a blonde woman, exactly 41 years of age, and bearing a near duplicate of his nose.

"Mia?" Cullen shouted, shaking his head to make certain he wasn't imagining this. But she remained, her arms crossed, and a fury radiating off of her that he hadn't seen since he dipped her braid in tree sap.

"Then she is your sister, as so claimed," Detan tried to get back on track.

"Yes, as I damn well told you," Mia, like most of the Rutherford clan, was not easily kowtowed by bureaucrats or titles. Maker only knew how many Grand Clerics and Mothers she thumbed her nose at in pursuit of finding him.

"What?" he struggled down a swallow, then realized he still held Lana pinned in his arms. Releasing her, she sunk to the floor, her own hands falling at her side as she glanced up at him, then back at his sister.

Detan bowed deep, "I shall leave you to get reacquainted then." She scurried out, slamming the apartment door in her wake so they knew she'd left. Maker, they must have been gossiping like mad about this down below. More than likely under the assumption that the woman pretending to be Cullen's sister was some old lover come to erupt fireballs with the new one. From the way Mia was glaring he wasn't certain which scenario was preferable.

Swallowing once, he began again, "What are you...?"

"Doing here?" she interrupted, stomping into the room. Snow scattered in her wake, cresting from the cloak bound tight against her shoulders as well as off the fur lining to her mid-calf boots. "What do you think I'm doing here. First, all we hear is that Orlais and Ferelden are plotting against the Inquisition. Okay, sounds bad but you've been through worst. I'm expecting to get a letter or two from you after the exalted council filling me in on their decision but nothing. Two months go by, then three, four. I finally send one to the Inquisitor himself and get back a very nicely worded 'Piss off' with hints of 'We don't know where he's gone off to either, stop asking.' So at this point, I'm thinking either something terrible's happened to you, or you, in your brilliant mind, have made a horrible decision."

Her burning eyes turned away from her brother to the other woman in the room. With a snort, Mia groaned, "I see now it was the latter."

"Mi," Cullen jabbed a finger at her, "this isn't what you...what even do you think?"

"What do I think?" she scoffed, her arms crossing as she gripped tight to the leather cuffs across her wrists. "It ain't that hard to think here, brother. I admit, I thought you were better than the type to run off with a pretty face but..." Mia gestured at Lana who was trying to cover her flushed face with her hands.

"For the Maker's sake," he growled, stomping over to grab onto her arm, but Mia wasn't one of the soldiers under his command. She yanked her arm out of his grip and then sneered back at him. "Let us discuss this elsewhere," he said, his hands grasping at thin air while he felt Lana melting into an embarrassed pool behind him. He wanted to join her but anger stampeded over it, the level of rage only family could stir.

"Fine," Mia hissed, she glanced once more over at Lana before succumbing to Cullen's shoving her out the door. It wasn't until they got out to the hallway that he realized he had no idea where to stick his sister. Surrounded on all sides by gossiping chantry was not a wise decision to get into a familial shouting match.

"Follow me," he snarled, leading her down the winding staircase, past a retinue of chanters prepared for the changing of the guard, and into a smaller room used for confessions of people with reasons to fear spies. He'd used it on occasion in high security meetings about the Inquisition and when talking about Lana with Leliana so no one else would overhear about the Hero. A few candelabras flickered along the wall, barely casting any light into the looming room. It offered up only a single kneeler for the confessor and a curtain should it be requested. For now it was tugged back, the kneeler slid up - no one intended to use the room.

Still...Cullen locked the door behind them, then turned to fully glower down at his sister. She, of course, returned it back with her special spin on the sneer by wrapping her fingers together and somehow cracking her knuckles by flexing them. Half a life later and the sound still drove into his teeth like a chisel. "Well, you clearly had something you needed to shout at me about," he began.

Mia stuck out her chin, but the knuckle cracking didn't stop, "Do you have any idea how worried we were? All of us waiting to hear about the conclave and then nothing. Nothing! I thought you moved past pulling this vanishing shit."

He sneered at her cursing, but didn't call attention to it, "It was complicated."

"That's what you always say. 'I can't explain because it's complicated.' What? You think all your fancy Inquisition words will fly over my head because I've never curtsied to Empresses and Kings before?"

"Andraste's tears, that's not what I meant at all. Will you stop putting words in my mouth?" he shouted back, beginning to pace back and forth to try and cool the rising temper.

"Branson was about ready to storm Skyhold itself, even called in some of the others in his co-op to assist and what do I find you doing? Not kidnapped in Val Royeaux, not at the mercy of the Divine who won't let you take a break long enough to send a letter off to his worried family. No, you're wrapped up in the arms of a..."

"Do not finish that thought," Cullen growled, aware of what hearing her classification of Lana would do to his opinion of Mia.

She twisted her head, daring him to finish his unsaid threat, but at least she let it die. Spreading her hands, Mia stepped back from that cliff, when she chuckled, drawing his full attention. "I will give you one thing, I am surprised. She's much older than I'd have expected."

"What? You think I'm the type to run off with some twenty year old girl I'd just met?"

"You're a man, it's not beyond the realm of surprises in thedas," Mia struck back with, cockiness shoring up her words.

Cullen dug his palms into his eyes, trying to scrub them so hard that his sister would vanish. When that didn't work, he dropped them and groaned, "You do not understand."

"Oh here we--"

"And if you will give me a moment," he spoke over top of her complaints, "I will explain." Mia sneered but shut her mouth, which was a small enough miracle. "Yes, you are right, I should have sent a letter. I thought I did, but perhaps in the shuffle it was lost. There are a lot of letters moving in and out and for that I'm sorry. Believe me, I had every intention of keeping you informed."

"When was this letter written?" Mia stepped in, "Was it during your mysterious three month vanishing act where even the Inquisition had no knowledge of your whereabouts?"

Groaning at how quickly she drew across the heart of the matter, Cullen tossed his head back. "No, fine, you win that one. Great for you. I was on a mission, a highly secretive one, all right."

"To do what?"

"I can't tell you," he sighed, which earned him an even worse sneer than the time he accidentally dyed all of her scarves a putrid brown. "There are things in my life that I have to keep secret for other's sakes, all right? I'm not trying to 'pull one over' on you. It is my duty to keep them."

Surprising him, Mia uncrossed her arms and nodded her head, "All right." Before he had time to celebrate this miracle, she continued, "So was that where you found that woman? On your secretive trip you can't tell anyone, even the Inquisitor, about?"

"'The Inquisitor?' Maker, Mia, you did not ask him in person."

"You vanished, what was I supposed to do? Let you stay missing for years again?"

He folded in a bit from her chastisement, aware of the hurt his cutting off communication caused. It was awhile before her letters stopped ending with "And you damn well better answer this one." It was certain she'd be adding that postscript yet again. "Yes, the trip was where I found her. Her name is Lana, by the way."

Mia waved her hand through the air as if it didn't matter. "And let me guess, you're madly in love right, after knowing each other for a month or two," her sneering broke and she whipped her head at him. "Maker's sake, do not tell me you two are already married."

"What? No, I..." He started upon the realization that the idea did enter his mind from time to time.

"Thank Andraste for small favors," Mia sighed as if he just assured her he wasn't dying of the blight.

"Why are you acting this way? I thought..." he tried before she cut him off. There certainly was no doubt she was his sister.

"I'm acting this way because you're behaving like a love addled moron. Yes, I said it, a moron. By the void, what do you know of this girl?"

"She's thirty three, you can call her a woman," Cullen cut in.

"Thirty three...?" Mia mused in surprise before shaking her head, "That's not the point."

"What is your point, because I'm a bit hazy on it right now? Stomping in here and acting as if I've doomed half of Ferelden."

She turned the full force of a forty year old woman who was raising three daughters upon him. Cullen almost expected Mia to cluck her tongue at how he'd _disappointed_ them and then wipe away a smudge on his cheek from her patronizing look. "I get it, okay. You're excited, happy, in the thrush of early love and all that. But...Maker's breath, Cullen, you're not exactly," she waved her hand in a circle trying to drum up the word while he glared at her, "romantic. Don't glower at me, you know it's true. How many girls have you courted in your life?"

That drew a surprised flush to his face. He never mentioned his love life in his letters, for obvious reasons. "I..."

"And then you're suddenly famous across thedas, the man who led the Inquisition's army. There are blighted songs being sung about you, and at least once a month we get a certified letter from some fancy duchess or whatever they have out here asking about your parentage and intentions."

"For the love of...they sent them to you?" he groaned, aware of the ones Josephine used to keep the holy fire of Andraste alive.

Mia nodded and her strict, no nonsense face slipped away to be replaced by one of understanding and compassion. Instinctively, Cullen gritted his teeth. She patted him on the arm, "I understand, you're catching up, having...fun."

"Andraste's tears," he sighed.

"But you need to think clearly, give yourself some time to-to weigh the consequences of your decision before you jump feet first in and find your life ruined."

"Are you bloody finished?" he spat out through clenched teeth, "Because Lana is the _last_ person in all of thedas that will ruin my life. And no, she's not some social climbing leech attempting to use me for her own gains. She's...special, with her own standing."

"Special how?" Mia scrunched up her face, "Like a dignitary? A fancy pants soldier? What, is she some long lost Rivani princess?"

"Her family's Marcher," he sighed, "and no, not a princess, or a duchess, or a countess, or..." Cullen's tongue paused as he realized she may still technically be an arlessa. While that part of her was considered dead, the king did know the truth and wasn't he the one who bestowed noble titles? That was probably something they should figure out.

"Oh, now I get it, she's 'special' in the way that offers no proof beyond what she assures you of while spreading her--"

"Will you stop leaping to assumptions for two blighted minutes?!" he shouted, causing Mia to shrink back. Her eyes darted back and forth through the small room and she kept a grip on her arms, but something in his tone must have finally reached her.

"Very well," she spoke in a cautious voice, "she's special."

Regret at raising his voice dug into his stomach and he glanced down at his hands to find them shaking. Perfect timing for that to act up too. "Please," he gripped his hands together to hide the tremors, "Just, meet with her. Talk to her. You'll see what I mean. Whatever idea you have of her couldn't be further from the truth."

Mia's eyes danced up and down his pleading face. She grabbed onto her waning scarf and wrapped it once back around her neck before nodding, "Fine, but if I suspect anything untoward on her part I will take you home even if I have to drag your ass through the snow to do it."

Biting down a groan at her threat, Cullen gestured out of the room. "This is off to a delightful start already, how much worse could it go?"

When they returned to the apartments, he spotted Lana curled up on the divan with Honor's head in her lap. He stumbled at the picture they made, her hand gently caressing his dog before she'd lift it up to turn a page and Honor would nudge her elbow to resume the pets. "So," Cullen spoke, drawing her attention away from her reading, "this is why Honor's so insistent upon getting on the furniture."

"Ah," Lana blushed, her head dipping down, "I'm afraid I am a pushover when it comes to mabari. Especially ones that do that," she sighed, pointing at Honor who had her biggest, saddest eyes on display. "You're lucky I don't feed her cake all the time too."

"All right," Mia finished shaking off her snowy cloak upon the hook over the door and stomped into the room. He caught Lana's wary gaze at her, her body tightening. "Let us get this over with."

Cullen glared at his sister for already beginning on a sour note, before he gestured over at Lana. "This is my sister, Mia," he said, pointing at the unimpressed woman.

"So I gathered. The eldest one, yes?" she said, and for a moment Mia's face dropped in surprise enough Cullen almost laughed at her.

"Right, and you are a _special_ woman Cullen found in his travels to somewhere her won't talk about. Lana, I believe was the name given."

Lana's cautious eyes darted over Cullen before she dipped her head down, "I am, and I am guessing you were not told much more."

"On that you're correct, my brother can be tight lipped about anything."

"Ever try to get him to admit if he enjoys anything in Orlais? It's like bathing a cat," Lana smiled at her light jape, but Mia only frowned deeper.

"Look, I get what you want. You'll put on the sweet, charming, innocent act to try and win over the extended family. I don't much care. I'm just here to try and understand your motivation."

"My motivation?" Lana blinked, her eyes darting over to Cullen and then focusing fully on the one leading this circus.

Mia stepped forward, her knuckles cracking at an alarming rate. "Why are you with my brother? What do you intend to get from it?"

"Ah," Lana slid back deeper onto the couch and folded her hands in her lap. He expected her to insist that she was madly in love with him, or that there were no intentions beyond caring for one another. But of course, Lana wasn't an average woman by any means. She read the scene before her as only someone who'd dealt with kings and empresses could, and jumped ahead to the next part. "Cullen," she spoke directly to him, "I think you should tell her the full of it."

"Wha..." he started, "Are you certain? I thought you didn't want anyone to know beyond the few of us."

She closed her eyes and a hint of a smile lifted up her lips. When they opened, it was a calculating glare drifting through her deep browns, one he rarely saw. Watching Lana he began to get a sense for the Arlessa hidden deep inside. "If she is family, then perhaps she should know."

"Know what?" Mia interrupted, "What is going on?"

Cullen sighed, turning to his sister to try and drop the news gently, when Lana rose off the couch. While most times he couldn't take his eyes off her certain movements and dextrous body, this was a whole new woman rising to her feet. She wore a cloak of distinguish he'd never seen upon her, the kind that scattered nobility back to their castles with a wave of her fingers. Placing a hand to her chest, Lana said in an irrefutable voice, "I am the Hero of Ferelden."

Mia snorted, her eyes darting around as if to check for pranksters hidden in the walls, "That's a good...What are you...?" she struggled to counter Lana's statement but the power of her force overwhelmed anyone. "But the Hero of Ferelden died. We all heard about it. Mourned it. Right?" she turned to look at Cullen and he couldn't wipe away the sorrow washing across his face.

He lifted his eyes enough to catch Lana's and her noble cloak vanished instantly, a deep regret replacing it. An overwhelming urge to pull her into his arms and remind himself that she was alive overcame him, but he shook it off. Not with Mia here still asking questions. "Yes," he whispered hoarse, "that was my mission. I traveled across thedas to pull Lana from the fade. She was trapped there for two years."

Lana's eyes slid down, her lips drooping with them as she shuffled on her weary legs. Ignoring his sister's glares, Cullen stepped forward and cupped Lana's hand in his. Together, he helped her return to the couch. "She's still recovering, which is why I haven't returned to Skyhold. I'm helping her heal here, where it's safe and... Mia, we don't want anyone knowing about this. Can you swear to keep it secret?"

Mia scoffed, her hands slapping against her thighs as she paced, "Keep what secret? You expect me to believe that...? Or the idea that you hadn't planned this lie all to...?" She paused and blinked, then turned back to them, "The Hero of Ferelden was a mage."

"Indeed I am," Lana said.

"A mage and a templar," Mia pointed at Cullen and he dipped his chin down.

"You've sussed out how we met," he said, his fingers still curled around Lana's. For a brief moment her eyes darted up to his and he squeezed her hand tight.

"You..." Mia seemed at a loss for words, an impressive sight, "You can't be the Hero of Ferelden, she's...she's..."

"Taller?" Lana said, folding her hands in her lap as she looked up at Mia who kept sliding back and forth. His sister seemed to either want to bow to her or jab a finger in her face and call her a liar.

"I, that's not," Mia turned to Cullen instead, "You know the Hero of Ferelden?"

"Yes," he smiled, savoring the shock creeping over Mia's face.

"Knew a couple times," Lana smiled, then a flush climbed over her face and her jaw dropped open. Crinkling up her nose, she slapped a hand over it, "That wasn't what I meant! I was thinking of, you know, because we keep re-meeting and...oh Maker, I am not doing well."

While Lana melted into an adorable puddle of blushing, Mia's crossed arms slipped and she watched the imposing woman break down. She looked about to say something to Lana when the door flew open.

"Oh what now?" Cullen groaned, fully expecting half of the Inquisition to waltz through the door all to gawk at his personal life.

"M...m...m...Maker," Mia crumbled at the woman filling the doorway, though most of that filling was done courtesy of her three foot tall hat.

"Hi Leliana," Lana waved nonchalantly, causing Mia's eyes to grow wider as she whipped back from the mage to the Divine.

"I see there's someone new here," Leliana extended her hand still decorated with the rings of Andraste.

"Most Holy, I never expected..." Mia tenderly picked up her fingers and gave them a limp shake as if she was terrified she might accidentally rip off Leliana's delicate arm.

"It's funny how rarely people expect to find me in my own chantry," Leliana chuckled at her.

"This is my sister, Mia," Cullen filled in for her questioning eyes.

"Of course, I'd heard mention that someone of your relation was in the area," she smiled at Mia with only beatification, but Cullen glared at her. She bloody well knew about this and didn't think to inform him or Lana for that matter? He was prepared to call her out on it, when Cullen caught the edge of a buried lie in Leliana's eyes. His anger flared out as realization rose, she was playing the game to give the impression the Divine knew all in her house.

"Your Perfection, it is an honor," Mia continued, unable to release Leliana's hand.

"I am certain I will feel the same, and while I wish I could stay I'm afraid we're due to an appointment." Leliana managed to yank her arm back with enough grace to make it look natural before she glanced up, "Are you ready, Lanny?"

"My cloak's by the door, let me grab my cane," Lana said, her fingers drifting under Honor's generous stomach.

"It's a wonder she doesn't try to eat it half the time," Cullen mused, watching his love fish the cane out and then offer a pat to the dog. "I doubt there's much she loves more than chewing apart every stick in a three mile radius."

"No," Lana smiled, rubbing Honor's head once more before rising, "I daresay she protects it." Getting the cane under her, Lana rose to her unsteady feet. She got one step in when Honor rose as well. "No girl, you stay here. I won't need you today. Guard Cullen okay, I know you're good at that."

Woofing once, Honor planted her butt on the ground all but trapping Lana so she couldn't leave. Sighing, Cullen nudged his dog out of the way and swooped a hand around her waist to guide her forward. It was silly, he knew, she could get on without him, but Lana's fingers gripped into his arm and she rose up to kiss him. For a brief moment her eyes darted over his shoulder, no doubt taking note of both women watching, and she planted a kiss on his cheek instead.

"We might be longer than normal. Leliana mentioned something about a banana, um..."

"Facial. It's supposed to do wonders to tighten up your skin and give you a radiant glow," the Divine said, her hands folded back into the holy robes.

Cullen smiled, his lips drifting near the top of Lana's head, "As if you need any help with that."

Lana chuckled and he spotted a return of her blush. Wiping down her cheeks, she slid past him and reached a hand out to Leliana who took it. Guiding her cane in place, Lana turned to Mia and stuck her hand out, "I'm sorry to have to leave now, but if I miss this appointment I'll be stiff for days. I can answer any questions you have upon my return."

A breath stuck in his throat as Cullen watched his sister, a part of him certain that she'd scoff or turn away. But Mia took her offered hand and shook it, "Of course. Until then."

Smiling at her, Lana wrapped her arm around Leliana, waved goodbye to Cullen once more, and then the two of them headed towards the door. In hushed tones that carried across the marble floor, Lana chastised Leliana, "Maker's breath, why are you in that getup?"

"Because people need to see the Divine moving among them, and I didn't have time to change after services," she added.

"You're so full of it," Lana laughed back. The door closed, cutting off the rest of their conversation and the apartment fell to silence. It didn't drift lazily above their heads the way a calm stillness would, this beat upon both their brows like an enraged woodpecker.

Mia blinked madly in their wake, her fingers digging into the air that used to hold the Divine and the Hero of Ferelden's hands. "That was...you know, I mean, I know you knew the Divine but... Is she really the Hero of Ferelden?"

Sighing, Cullen slid a brotherly hand around her shoulders. "Perhaps we should sit first," he pointed at the breakfast nook and Mia nodded her head. "Would you like something to drink. We have tea, which I think is still warm."

Dumbstruck, Mia collapsed into the chair, her head buried in her hands. "Yeah, sounds good, but...you better make it the way grandma does. I think I'm gonna need it. The Hero of Ferelden," she groaned at herself.

Chuckling, Cullen pulled out the only bottle of hard liquor in the house, an Antivan rum courtesy of Isabela and her interesting crew of slave freeing pirates. After topping off his sister's mug and giving himself a little as well, Cullen sat at the table calmly sipping and watching her roll her head in her hands. She'd on occasion ask if Lana was really the Hero of Ferelden, and after his assertion that she was, Mia returned to groaning.

"It's going to get cold," Cullen pointed out after five minutes of that.

Sneering, his sister picked up her mug and took a deep swig. After wiping off her mouth, she groaned, "And the bloody Divine too. The two of them, off right now."

"Lana and Leliana have been friends since the blight, good friends. It's why we wound up here, among other reasons," Cullen tried to explain. He felt pity for his sister's state, but a part of him reveled in her pain for jumping to such outlandish conclusions.

"How?" Mia shook her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, "How do you and Lady Amell... Shit, am I supposed to call her that?"

"No, Lana's good. I don't actually know what she intends to do about her family name."

"Because she's still dead as far as everyone else is concerned?" Mia struggled to keep up. At his nod, she collapsed her face onto the table causing Cullen to rise up in shock. He almost reached out to see if she was okay, when a voice moaned from the wood, "Why can't you ever do anything normal in your life?"

He snickered, leaning back in his chair. "I wonder that as well sometimes," his fingers drifted down and found Honor where she always waited as they ate, right under the table hoping for scraps to magically bounce off her nose. "Lana's worth a bit of strangeness though, more than a bit. I'd..." He screwed up his eyes and shook his head, scattering away the sentiment.

Even with his best efforts, Mia caught on fast, her head rising off the table, "How long has this been going on between you two?"

"That's not easy to answer," he said, earning a sneer, but Cullen waved his hands for a mea culpa, "It's the truth. We spoke on occasion in the tower, before she became a warden. But nothing untoward, never. Lana was...I couldn't put her in danger like that and..." Cullen's eyes stared down at his cup and he watched the milk blooming through the sweet browns of the tea, each racing to complete the other.

"You knew each other in the tower, but then re-met during...oh Maker," Mia threw her head back and her shoulders hunched forward. "I knew something was wrong with you, but no, everyone else kept waving it away saying you were under pressure."

"What? What do you mean?" he glanced away from his mug to watch his sister scrub down her face then lift her hands to stare at her calluses.

"And you never said a blighted word, no, not Cullen. Can't let anyone know a thing about his personal life."

"The stance has served me well," he grumbled, uncertain what had Mia agitated now as she punched blame his way.

Pulling her hands away, she sat up fully and focused her eternal stare through him, "Did you love her?"

"What?"

"When she died, or fell into the fade, or whatever happened..." Mia's glower faded and a pity wiped over it, "were you in tremendous pain because you thought the woman you loved, who saved a nation. No, who saved the world! That she died?"

"I..." he whipped his head down to glare into his cup, fighting back the stew of emotions. He never wanted to think about Lana's loss without her present. Whenever he felt the prick against his heart and in the back of his mind, he'd look over at her, hold her hand, and remind himself she was here, safe. Even knowing she was in good hands with Leliana, it hurt too much to think about the past.

Mia reached out, her hands grabbing onto his, "And you didn't tell any of us?"

"How could I? What would I say? _You know how the Hero of Ferelden just sacrificed herself for all of us? I was in love with her._ _Sorry I never mentioned it before, but we were..._ " he yanked his hands away to wrap them around the mug, drawing warmth as if he could pull strength from it, "It was complicated. I didn't want to mention our relationship beginning because...I was afraid of what would happen if it all fell apart. Of the pitying looks and attempts by others to replace her. No one can replace Lana."

Mia's eyes crawled over him, her finger tapping against the handle of her nearly drained mug. "You fell this hard for her in the few months she was with the Inquisition?"

Cullen whipped up and glared at his sister, "For the Maker's sake, Mia. She..." He sighed, his head slopping forward before continuing, "She's The Mage."

"Yeah, I understand that now. Also _The_ Warden. _The_ Hero. _The_ Savior. A lot of Thees in there."

"No, no," he softly turned his head with each denial, trying to get her to understand, "Lana's 'the mage' the one you and Branson regularly picked on me for. The one I kept mentioning in my letters."

"She..." that caught her, his sister sliding her chair across the expensive chantry floors and a whine trailing it. "She, the Hero of Ferelden, was that same little mage you would write endlessly about?" He nodded. "By the void, why didn't you say anything? Tell us that _the mage_ was also the woman who ended the blight?"

"Because," Cullen swallowed, his throat growing scratchier with each word, "I only knew she survived Ostagar when she saved me in the tower from the, from the blood mages and demons." He could feel the raw pain of tears in his eyes but felt no moisture in them. "Lana's the reason I'm alive today, if not for her I, I'd never have survived the tower."

"Maker's breath," Mia sat back, her face washed white from his truths. She swirled her cup before taking another swig. After swallowing it his sister looked over, "You don't do anything by half measures, do you?"

Cullen folded his hands on the table, watching the scar along the meat of his thumb on the back of his hand. What was the old saying? I know it like the back of my hand? He'd reached the point in his life where most of his scars were hazy memories, some he knew well, others pasts were gone, lost to the ether to be replaced by other memories. But that one, the white jagged dash he'd never forget.

It had to have been the end, after at least a week trapped at the whims of the blood mages and their pet demons. He watched as one by one the other templars vanished, either driven mad or killed outright. Somehow Cullen was the only one left in that prison. He tried praying to block the mages penetrating his mind, to find the strength to free himself, and finally, to purge his soul in anticipation of meeting the Maker. They chittered in his brain, taunts of both pain and pleasure, sometimes in the same breath. It fell away to background noise, barely coherent in his exhausted state, when a new voice entered into his head.

Sweet like watermelon wine on a summer's day, this voice didn't shout at him, didn't leer, didn't unravel his thoughts and lay them bare for judgment. It only cried out for him, worried for him. He didn't believe it, couldn't, and in a desperate grab for his sanity, Cullen wrapped his hands up in prayer so fast his jagged and brittle nails drew a deep line along the back of his hand.

She spoke to him, promised she'd save him, while blood trickled off his hand but he didn't notice, didn't care. His entire body felt like one long scar, ripped open wide to expose every inch of Cullen. The scar never healing, always weeping across anyone who dared to draw close to him poisoning them they way it did his blood. And now...

Cullen's eyes drew away from the little scar to his sister, who bullied her way back into his life, for which he was grateful. "Lana's the first woman I've ever loved," he said, earning a 'no kidding' look from Mia, but he wasn't finished. His fingers ran over the scar. He remembered it not from what caused it, but because after she saved him, saved the whole tower, Lana picked him up by his hand, noticed the blood dried across it, and wiped a whisper of her magic against his skin to heal it.

"And," he smiled, "I hope she's the last woman I ever love."


	9. Reunion

"That could have gone worse."

The Divine's voice floated over the partition between them, a paper thin curtain that gave Lana a view of her reclining silhouette as practiced hands smoothed some mashed fruit concoction over Leliana's body. Lana's limbs felt as if they weighed another fifty pounds each, but a proud exhaustion rolled through her body. She'd lasted twice as long as the first time she swam, even managing to try a little dive here and there. Wrapped in a robe they were keeping back special for the 'friend of the Divine,' Lana watched her pampered toes knock back and forth as she reclined on a padded deck chair.

"Perhaps I am unfamiliar with worse in Divine speak," Lana said, raising her voice to overcome the partition, "but I'd say having his sister walk in unannounced and threaten to drag him back to Ferelden is pretty high up there."

"Nonsense," Leliana scoffed, the silhouette of her hand waving before one of the attendants grabbed it to coat her arm in the mixture. "There were no duels of honor, no one tried to start a war, and no chantry cleric floated the idea of someone faking their death. Maker, I don't know what it is about small town Mothers and faking deaths but that's their answer to every problem."

"You're being facetious," Lana laughed.

Leliana yanked back on the curtain revealing her normally spotless visage coated in a disturbingly lumpy green and brown mixture. As she spoke a fruity scent floated off her rather swampy look. "Three different Mothers across Orlais all came up with the same plan to deal with a pair of barely adults who wanted to run away and get married."

"What did you suggest?"

"Give them a project that they have to accomplish together; anything that takes two days. Either they'll realize they're young and can't imagine spending the rest of their lives together, or it's true love and marry them without all the simulating death potions. Maker, where do they get these outlandish ideas?"

"Says the bard," Lana cut back with, folding her fluffy arms across her stomach. She accidentally scattered a cheese plate someone left out for her, not that there was much left on it to scatter.

"Ha," Leliana leaned back to her chair, but didn't close the curtain, "touché." The attendants pulled out a knife and Lana tensed up, but they only used it to slice apart a hunk of wood and place two wedges over Leliana's eyes. Lana yearned to ask what was the point, but she remembered she was in Val Royeaux; points were beyond Orlesians. Sometimes you did things simply because if you didn't you'd be wrong.

"Have you given much thought to the family situation?" Leliana asked from below her wood and fruit encrusted body. Watching her, Lana began to imagine ants sensing the feast coating her skin and come scurrying over to bite it all off. Absently, she scratched at her legs in her friend's honor.

"I...I don't know. What am I supposed to do? She's his sister."

"Are they close?"

Lana shrugged, "He'd never admit it as such, but he mentions her often and they do write. I think Cullen likes to pretend he's above it all while enjoying the foundation of his siblings."

"So poison's probably out." The attendants both paused, their eyes darting around in concern, so Lana put on her biggest laugh.

"Leliana, do not be so silly," she laughed again, pretending to clutch her stomach from how silly her friend was being. She'd _never_ use poison to kill someone, not the Divine. Leliana on the other hand... "I feel like I'm on unsteady ground here trying to cast a crushing prison on a Emissary before it hits me back. Probably with a mortality curse no less. For being mindless, darkspawn sure love that one."

Her friend chuckled, then waved her hands in a dismissal at the two attendants who didn't seem to have anything better to do. After bowing deep to the respected Divine, they scampered off. Leliana sat up, her wood wheels popping off her eyes. She leaned through the drawn back curtain and Lana tried to match her, "You're going to have to work on your metaphors if you don't want everyone to know you're a grey warden or a mage."

"It was a simile," Lana began, before sighing into her chest. She was right, why not shout out "Hey, remember that time I killed an archdemon and saved all of you from the blight?" at the top of her lungs while she was at it.

"Lanny," a sticky hand reached over to catch hers, "do not worry. He adores you. Believe me, it's blatantly obvious to anyone who spends more than a few minutes with you." Lana shifted at that, feeling more self conscious from the way her friend played off the obvious affection between her and Cullen. "And, assuming he can convince his sister of that, they'll probably accept you, or at least stop threatening to drag him back home. It'll be fine."

"When has anything in my life ever been fine?" she sulked, flopping back onto the chair.

That drew a snort of the Divine, "All right, I'll let you have that one."

"I just, I guess it's..." Lana swung around on her chair to sit sideways in it, her feet planting onto the ground. With her hands digging into her bony knees below the fuzzy robe, she stared at Leliana, "I don't have any family, not...not like that. And, well, Ali didn't either that wasn't a complete waste of time. So, I'm not sure how to act, or what to..." Her thoughts paused and she tapped her chin, "Come to think of it, did any one of us during the Blight have any family? Oghren had his wife who, well..."

"Morrigan," Leliana hissed, dropping the wood back over her eyes.

"I'm not sure if that counts. I think her and her mother got on worse than Oghren and his crazy dead wife. I never thought of that before, we were like a jolly band of orphans."

Leliana snorted at that, "A well armed, crazy, exhausted jolly band of orphans."

"...on our fifth night of leftover lamb stew, trying to pick around the moldy bits," Lana shouted out with a laugh.

"Which was surprising seeing as how we rarely ever had access to any lamb meat," Leliana said, sniffing her more refined nose up at their old cuisine.

"Alistair had his ways."

"Speaking of..." Leliana sat up now as well, her skin creaking as the paste across her body hardened. "I recently received word that there is to be a blessing gifted upon the Therin household."

Lana released a breath, "Is that all? Maker, I was worried you were going to go back into...never mind," she blinked, "What took him so damn long?"

"You knew?"

"You didn't?"

Leliana pursed her cherry red lips, now smeared in actual cherries and some plums. "I was aware of the idea of a potential child, but I thought..."

"Yeah, the old warden curse still stands," Lana said, steadying her shoulders.

"Interesting," Leliana dug her fingers into her chin, causing half of a mashed up fruit stand to flake free. "Do you think he will accept the child?"

"It's family, all Alistair's ever wanted is family. He'll dive head first in, probably put most other kings to shame. I bet you a copper he'll even change nappies."

"No, that's..." Leliana shook her head in disagreement, but paused, her calculating eyes sliding over Lana who probably knew what made Alistair tick more than anyone in thedas. "A curious thought. There are other princes and princesses who are not makes of their fathers. One that's not from his mother but that was a very extenuating circumstance. I'm certain Alistair will do well with it. He has a habit of failing upwards."

Lana snickered at that and reached for her deep blue glass. Water sparkled in it, but a strange kind filled with electric bubbles. She wasn't certain if she liked it yet, even after three glasses.

Leliana watched her drink, before dropping her next question, "And how do you feel about it?"

She managed to swallow, but the bubbles burned white hot trails down her throat in the process. "What?" Lana rasped out, coughing to get the water out of her nose.

"Alistair, with a child, was that not the reason...?"

"For the love of the Maker, do you not have a hobby? Am I your only source of drama or something? Leils, I'm happy for him, really. It's not just the baby stuff that was why we couldn't work, and you damn well know it. There's no way thedas would've stood for that. By the void, I'd receive complaints about the idea courtesy of rampant rumors and nothing else, even when I hadn't been to Denerim in years."

"What of Cullen?" she asked.

"I don't think he cares much one way or the other. He was a bit bothered when Alistair confessed it to him, but other than that..."

Leliana pursed her lips before speaking, "Does he know about you and children?"

"You make it sound as if I boil them whole in a pot and use their bones for spells," Lana grumbled, earning a glare from her friend. "Yes, fine, he knows. All of it. In fact, I told him during that snowstorm where you caught us, uh... He's known for awhile, plenty of time to turn around and run, but he keeps sticking around for Maker only knows why."

Beaming at her, Leliana slipped back to her chair, "I believe I know why, and very well, I shall drop it. You seem to have everything well in hand."

"I wouldn't take that leap unaided, but I'm trying, very hard," she ran her fingers down her chest to tap against the birthmark. Alistair never cared about it much, she was well aware of his preferred assets, but Cullen adored it. And the idea of him loving it, touching it, kissing it, awakened a warmth in Lana's stomach. She smiled to herself and rested back. Maybe she was worrying too much and things would work out. It'd be a nice change.

"Why did you wear the Divine robes here?" Lana asked, turning the scrutinizing gaze back upon her friend. "You changed out of them the moment you arrived, it seemed rather superfluous and it'd have been easier to avoid the worshipping crowds without."

"Because," Leliana smiled, "even without the hat everyone knows the Divine is here relaxing, moving among the people without a concern."

"Concern?" Lana sat up at that. "Leils, are you worried about assassins?"

"Lanny, was there ever a time in your Arlessa career you weren't?" That was a fair point. "Now amplify that by all of southern thedas, add in one side angry about the mages, another about elves, and a third that's always angry and you have a rather spiteful bunch. I'm keeping an eye upon it, I assure you. But, every now and then it does the people good for the Divine to leave her gilded palace, and Maker does it keep me sane."

"Now that I can agree with," Lana admitted, sliding back onto the chair. While she'd take luxury over the frozen hard ground pocked with insects drawing a pint of blood, after awhile the gilded glint rubbed her eyes raw and sometimes she needed to shout against the chantry's enforced whisper.

Her fingers tapped against her cheek, and she mused, "Perhaps I should send a letter to Zevran."

"Do you think that's wise?" Leliana's skin cracked up again as she turned to face Lana.

"All that talk of assassins, I...it seems cruel to leave him out of our little circle. What?"

"I didn't realize you two were in communication," Leliana cast a careful blue eye over Lana who felt it crawling over her face.

She shrugged, "It wasn't constant. And at times would fall fallow as he was off doing whatever Zev did."

"Sex and mayhem would be my summation."

Lana laughed at that, "True. But he's a good pulse on the rest of the assassin underworld. If anyone's moving, then..."

"Old Lanny, you can't stop, can you?"

"Says Divine Victoria who filled her chantry with spies," Lana snickered, earning a shrug from the woman. It shouldn't surprise anyone, but she bet more than a few Mothers would be blown out of their hose if they learned the full reach of the Divine's fingers.

"Hm, I am curious what the Commander would make of our elven lothario."

"Before or after Zev propositions him?" Lana arched her eyebrow earning a laugh from Leliana. "I'm beginning to think your real fun is found in trying to make Cullen feel as off put as possible."

"It was only a thought," she tried to wave it all away as innocent, but Lana knew her too well.

"Anyway, it's not as if I'm the one who bedded Zevran," she shot a few pointed looks at Leliana before folding her arms.

Shrugging once, Leliana's bow lips pursed, "It was surprisingly better than I expected. Most men who drone on and on about their prowess are anything but. Yet, Zev had the, uh, goods to back it up, so to speak."

"He asked me once after Ali...after the archdemon fell, if I didn't want to give it a try."

"Really?" Leliana sat up in surprise. Somehow despite their love lives being a constant source of entertainment over the years, Lana never thought to tell her this fact. "What happened?"

"I believe I told him 'I wasn't drunk enough yet, but to give me six months.' It wasn't my best response in that state, given, well...you know. But damned if that elf, sure enough, didn't pop up six months later with a bottle of Antivan brandy and that hopeful smirk on his face."

"Wait," Leliana twisted around fully in her seat, her fingers tapping against her face, "You two, you didn't actually...?"

"What? No! Maker, Zev's always just been a friend. We shared the bottle, talked shop for the night, and...maybe smeared mud under Alistair's sheets before bed. Least Zev told me it was mud, although..." Lana tried to dig back through years of her life, it'd been so long since she'd seen that cocksure elf. Before the fade, the Inquisition, even before Seheron. She kept failing to find time for her friends until time almost ran out on her. "Don't worry, Zev's your one or two night mistake. Hands off," Lana wagged her fingers and laughed before reaching for her drink.

"No, I suppose he's not really your type. Blonde yes, but something's missing. Now if he learned a few templar tricks..."

"Maker's breath," Lana sputtered, "do not start that again."

While she struggled to regain her composure and Leliana only offered up a gentle smirk, the two attendants returned. Bowing deep to the Divine, they made overtures that she was now free to wash the stomach contents of a fruit bat off and directed her, not to a tub as Lana expected, but a wall. Leliana stood patiently against the slate, only hints of her pale skin poking out below the green and brown mass. She prodded at a bit on her shoulder, and Lana glanced around wondering if small ferrets would be released to gently nibble it away. Sounded like something Orlesians would do.

Just as Lana was about to ask, a slot opened above Leliana and gallons of water plummeted from the ceiling to wash over her body. She didn't shriek or leap away, only stood stock still as the fruit crust washed over the floor. Prepared, one attendant waved a broom in its direction, moving the slosh towards a drain in the floor. Curious, Lana turned her head up towards Leliana and realized that the Divine decided to forgo wearing any small clothes under her fruit body mask. Leliana cared not a whit for her all natural state, but a few heads turned in her direction and couldn't stop staring. One man, his portly belly eclipsing the tight waistband of the cinched up trousers, nearly walked into a table as he couldn't take his eyes off the Divine's ample constituency.

Unaware of the uproar she caused, Leliana grabbed up a sponge and began to slick off the last of the fruit revealing her own porcelain skin glistening like brand new. Happily clean, she reached out for a towel and her crystal eyes wandered over to the man. It took a moment before he realized who was staring him down and an utter dread draped over him. Scurrying away with his head practically skimming the floor from the bow, the man plowed through a few others peeking in at the Divine. Shrugging once, Leliana slipped her arm through the robe offered to her.

"I don't think the rest of thedas knows what to make of a Divine who's not over 65," Lana said, trying to crane her neck to watch the beet red man scuttle towards the front door without looking at anyone.

"Yes," Leliana finished drying off and wrapped up her flame red locks in a blue towel. "It took quite some time to convince the elder staff that I continue to bleed."

"That is the one nice thing about being a warden, not having to deal with that mess once a month."

"It does make joiningthe order rather tempting," Leliana chuckled.

One of the attendants accepted her soaked towels gladly. "Does Most Holy require a private room for any matters?" Her eyes only darted to Lana for a moment before fully focusing on the Divine but it was an obvious enough glance. _What in the...? Oh, here too._

"No," Leliana smiled, "I believe we should return to the Cathedral. You have someone to become acquainted with, after all." Her sweet smile didn't fool Lana. Internally she groaned, knowing Leliana expected to hear all the details later with particular emphasis on all the times Lana shoved her foot in her mouth.

"I suppose so," snatching up her cane, Lana managed to get up to her exhausted legs. While steadying herself, Leliana snuck up behind and wrapped an arm around hers.

"Careful, it's rather slick now."

"And fruity," Lana added. The entire spa smelled not of unguents and acids but the bright sparkle of strawberries, cherries, and every melon in thedas. It lifted the hand of winter and transported her back to summer days lounging in meadows watching the butterflies at play.

With Leliana holding tight, the pair slipped towards the entrance and the changing room holding their real clothes. As they passed the two attendants, she overheard one whisper something to the other. Most of it was intelligible, but the words "Divine" and "commander" both came up, followed by a mile long stare Lana's way. Wonderful, more rumors following her wake.

Unaware of the gossiping, Leliana gestured in the direction of the terrified man, "How many canticles do you think he's speaking right now to make up for catching the Divine unclothed?"

"At least a dozen. Perhaps you should instate naked chantry services. After all, we did have to walk through Andraste's flame in such a state," Lana said, trying to sound lighthearted, but she felt even more eyes swinging towards her.

"That's true, but sadly I doubt I could talk the Grand Clerics into it. Not that the chantry doesn't already have a reputation for more lurid...you know."

"Speaking of, you're going to find this hilarious, but..." Lana steadied her legs under her and tried to take some of the weight off her arm. "I've been noticing looks shot my way. Jealous ones when I'm with you when you're Divine. It's funny, but I can't escape the idea that they're all under the delusion we're involved romantically."

"Oh, yes, many people think that," Leliana spoke so starkly Lana's knee froze in place, her foot hanging a moment off the ground.

"They, what? People think that-that you and I are...and you know about it?"

"Lanny," she chuckled, adjusting her grip to try and cushion it better, "how many rumors put you with every available man in Ferelden?"

"Too Maker damn many."

"It was unavoidable, given how much time I'm spending with a relatively unknown person, that people would assume we were more intimate," Leliana explained. She was right, it shouldn't come as such a great surprise all things considered. People loved gossip, no matter where they hailed from, and there was an ease with which the two of them played off each other that could be mistaken for an old romance.

"Also," Leliana's eyes winnowed down to her old shrewdness leaving Lana to wonder why she ever thought the woman was once a simple helpless Sister, "I've been encouraging the rumors."

"You...why?" Lana stuttered.

"Whispering that the Divine has a mistress gives the people comfort. They think they have leverage over me and it also helps them to see me as human. I may be the voice of Andraste, but I also indulge in the same vices from time to time. It keeps people at ease whether they realize it or not."

"Maker's breath," Lana sighed, her head dangling down, "You scare me sometimes."

"Says the woman who killed an archdemon," She turned her blinding smile on Lana as they finally made it to the changing rooms where someone took the time to lay out all their hastily discarded clothing across racks.

Lana reached out for her dress and tugged it close, "I thought we weren't going to talk about all my wardeny stuff anymore."

"Of course, how could I forget?" Leliana clapped her hand to her mouth, but the edges of her smile puckered out the side.

Leaning against the wall for leverage, Lana dropped her dress over her head and began the long task of buttoning it up. She got halfway up her chest, when a thought rattled in her head and a groan erupted through her throat.

Turning from her far more complicated robes, Leliana raised an eyebrow, "You may as well voice it."

"First Alistair, now you, is there anyone from the Blight I'm not going to be tied to in the annals of courtly whispers?"

The Divine knotted the first of five sashes and shrugged, "If you get in contact with Zevran we could have ourselves a proper orgy."

Plucking up her soggy robe, Lana chucked it at the Divine, scattering her fancy hat across the floor. "I hate you," Lana laughed at her best friend.

* * *

 

She was all smiles and laughs as they rode through the snowy streets of Val Royeaux clinging to a sled drawn by the Divine's personal hart, but as Lana drew closer to the door a dread settled in her stomach she couldn't shake. Leliana nudged her a few times insisting it would be fine, but the words buzzed like mosquitoes in her ear, the blood pounding through her brain from a panic crawling inside. She hadn't had to worry about people judging her before, people she needed to impress because they might slot into her life.

Before preparing to return to her work, Leliana extended a hand. Taking it, Lana threw up a forced smile, "Should we kiss goodbye, darling?"

Leliana chuckled, "It's all right, perhaps better to save it for an audience when the vultures are growing particularly thick."

Dropping her hand, Lana waved once at the Divine's form retreating back down the stairs. She wrung her fingers over the handle of her cane, trying to draw forth the energy from it to crack open the door and face whatever waited before her. Lifting her head back, she moved to grab onto the handle when the door opened of its own accord and Cullen stood in the way. He blinked for a moment, his frown blossoming into a smile as his eyes darted over her.

"You're back," he said, before turning around and sighing at Honor, "It's only Lana. Will you cease that whining? She began barking and dancing at some sound, I assume it was you and Leliana walking up the stairs."

Lana chuckled at the mabari's honed senses. At least they'd have some warning if an angry mob ever tried to storm to their little apartment. Sliding his fingers against her cheek chilled from the winter winds, Cullen cupped both to add his own warmth before guiding himself in for a kiss. The anxiety knotted in her innards flitted away from the press of his lips and Lana returned it happily. She felt serene and at peace, until her eyes darted away from him to find Mia sitting on the divan.

"How did it go?" Cullen asked, stepping backwards to give Lana room to enter.

"Oh, about what you'd expect," she tugged at her cloak, unclasping it with one hand, and turning to try and toss it over the hook. "Fairly certain Leliana gave a poor man a heart attack."

"On purpose or..."

She smiled at that, "It's hard to say with her."

"Indeed, and you missed a lot of her turn as a spymaster."

"You missed her time as the Left Hand. There were more than a few of her letters I had to burn the moment after I read them," Lana reached down to cup her fingers in his hand. Squeezing tight, she drew strength and so much more through him. Maker knew she was going to need it.

Mia rose off the couch and by the steel in her spine and set to her jaw Lana spotted the family resemblance. Softer in the face than her brother, they both bore the commanding presence that could lead nations if pressed upon. Her hair was brassier than Cullen's and braided into sections twisted around her head. She was a few inches shorter in comparison but stood far higher than Lana. Not that that was difficult to achieve for anyone other than dwarves. She even knew a few elves who stood inches or more above her.

"Things, uh, started out a bit awkward," Cullen spoke watching the two women slowly approach each other.

Mia blinked twice and then turned her head, "If you're the Hero of Ferelden..."

"Oh, not this again," Cullen scoffed. His sister glared at him for interrupting.

"If you will let me finish," she groaned at him before turning to Lana, "do you remember the time you interceded in the small village of Honnleath?"

Lana couldn't stop the smile, that memory vibrant, "Of course, when I met Shale."

"Shale?" Cullen asked.

"Ah, she was the statue in the square. Turned out to be a golem. Which reminds me, I should try and find her before she does any real harm to an indigenous bird population."

"It was a she?" Mia asked, her eyes opening wider.

"That is...a rather long story," Lana danced around it all. First meetings didn't seem the time to go into golems, living paragons trapped in the body of one, broodmothers, and the whole Branka mess. Perhaps over Satinalia dinner instead. "Was that all you wanted to ask me?"

"No, no, I...when you slaughtered the darkspawn that infested the town and freed the people, my sister - our sister - was one of them."

"Oh," Lana touched her chest, "I had no idea."

"Wait, what was Delilah doing in town?" Cullen interrupted.

Mia rolled her eyes, "She had a deep fascination with the, Maker I can't remember his name, the drippy one whose face looked more like a sick crow's. You know who I mean."

"No, I have no idea..." Cullen curled up his nose before turning to Lana, "And you rescued them? How had I never heard of this?"

"Perhaps because you never answer your blighted letters?" Mia interrupted, her arms crossing her chest, "I know I told you about Delilah's ordeal, Maker it was all we heard about for weeks. And then after we learned it wasn't just any warden but the great Hero of Ferelden who saved her it became a damn near constant."

"You don't need to thank me," Lana intercepted between the sibling argument. "It was a long time ago."

"Even so, you took the time in the middle of a blight to rescue people you didn't know. Apparently had no reason to know," her shrewd eyes danced over Cullen and Lana wondered just how much of their past the two had talked about while she was out. "Thank you. If Del was here she'd...blather on for twenty minutes and then thank you."

"I..." she'd had this happen before, people approaching her with arms extended wanting to hug their savior. Sometimes people thanked her for things she didn't even do, other less famous fighters having slaughtered the darkspawn, but trying to correct them only upset people more so she had to stay quiet. Lana felt a blush curling up her neck and she rocked back and forth on her heels, "You're welcome, but I was just doing my job."

"Aren't we all?" Mia said. "Oh, and one more thing, when you were in Honnleath, did the King of Ferelden come with?"

"Mia, why are you even...?"

"Quiet, it's important," she hissed.

Lana glanced up at the ceiling to think. She remembered Shale rising to life, the demon cat, and...oh yes, Alistair was there. He'd thrown a slightly smaller fit about the golem joining them than he had over Zev. And it wasn't as if Shale ever hit on her...or him. Smiling, Lana bobbed her head, "Yes, he was there."

"Damn," Mia cursed, snapping Lana's attention to her. In an explanation, Mia turned to her brother, "Delilah's been going on and on about how she saw the King before he ever took the crown, all proud of herself. We thought it was another one of her exaggerations but Maker, we will never hear the end of it now."

"In your defense, I rather doubt he acted very kingly at the time," Lana said.

"If ever," Cullen grumbled under his breath. She reached over to hold only his cheek and smooth away the worry lines, when Lana felt the curious prick of his sister's stare. It didn't seem judgmental, only curious, very curious. Lana's fingers plummeted away and remained locked at her side. The most apparently pressing question answered, silence fell into the room, one which none wanted to pierce for fear of what could fall out.

"Perhaps I should..." Lana began when the apartment door cracked open louder than usual and an almost harried Detan appeared.

"Commander," she bowed her head and he returned it.

"Do not tell me more of my family's appeared," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

"No Ser, but you should come with me. There is a matter that requires your attention now and...I-I," her steel eyes bounced around the room as if hoping someone would offer her salvation. "I don't know what to do about the druffalo!"

"Druffalo? What in the...?" Cullen's head slopped forward, the exhaustion evident. "Are there not any, no, of course not. What would the chantry know of corralling a druffalo?" He clawed at his head, then risked a glance from the panicked elf to his sister and then Lana. "I fear I should attend to this, but..."

"Maker's sake, stop making such a blight out of this. Head on down there and do whatever you have to. We'll be fine," Mia insisted, jabbing out her chin.

Lana wished she felt the same confidence his sister did, but then she was the one holding all the cards. The best Lana had was a joker and a two of cups. Her eyes darted over to Cullen and he seemed to catch the panic rising in them. Reaching out, his fingers crested around hers and gripped tight. He leaned near her and whispered, "I promise it won't be more than a half hour."

She wanted to assure him she'd be fine, that it was all for nothing, but fear knotted her tongue. All Lana could do was nod once and try to not bite her lip. Releasing her hand, Cullen dug through his hair once more before trailing after Detan and asking all the questions he could about this rampaging druffalo. As the door closed, Lana tried to not imagine she was just trapped in a room with an ogre who was lofting a boulder to crush her head. The silence tripled in strength, beating its hollow notes against them both as they tried to make occasional eye contact and then glance away.

Exhaustion from her day rattled up Lana's legs and she realized if she didn't sit soon, someone would have to be picking her up off the floor. "If you don't mind, I need to rest on the sofa," she said while sliding towards it. Honor perked up and leapt out of the way, giving her a clear path to crash onto the cushions. Gliding back with the dog, Mia watched for a moment before placing her backside onto the gilded chair Cullen hauled over their first day in the apartments.

Lana began to dip into the fade, when her fingers paused. The tendrils of magic shook off her hands as she glanced over at the guest who'd probably never seen much casting in her life. Lana was doing a great job at hiding her true nature.

Swiping once at her nose, Mia adjusted in her seat, "I suppose I should say something to you." _Oh Maker._ Lana tried to bury the rise of anxiety burning through her veins. She reached down to blindly pet Honor, getting a handful of slobber for her effort. "I'm sorry, for rushing in here with the accusations I had."

 _Wait. What?_ Lana turned over to Mia to find her eyes cast down as she glared at her hands. "We hadn't heard from him in some time and then out of the blue rumors are flying about the Commander of the Inquisition sequestered away in Val Royeaux with a mystery woman."

 _Rumors? Mystery woman?_ Maker, was this more of Leliana's doing or did Orlais truly have nothing else to speak of?

"I admit, none of that sounded anything like my brother, and I may have, no, I overreacted. For which I apologize," her eyes darted up to Lana.

Smiling, Lana bobbed her head, "It's accepted, and I can understand your reaction. Given the limited information, it doesn't seem like something Cullen would do. Much less remaining in Val Royeaux not under duress. Andraste, the complaints from his lips every time he returns from having to walk the market..."

"I'm surprised he hasn't gotten into a few fist fights along the way," Mia chuckled softly.

"There's a good possibility he does and will not tell me," Lana said, still upset about how he wouldn't elaborate on his fight with Alistair.

"That sounds like my brother," Mia massaged her head, digging in furrows across her forehead similar to Cullen's. "I admit, this is all a bit..."

"Strange?"

"Surprising. In that my brother is in love, seeming to be madly in love with...well, you. A hero, a grey warden."

"A mage," Lana sighed, always aware of what people thought of their pairing.

"That's perhaps the least surprising part of all," Mia said, which caught Lana's attention, but she didn't elaborate. Mia scrunched up her face and shook her head, "In all his letters home from Skyhold he never once mentioned you, even the one after you die- Fell?"

"Into the fade," she explained, her voice blank.

"All that time and there was nothing, as if he wasn't in mourning," Mia twisted her head at Cullen's choices, then she paused and guilty eyes darted up to Lana.

"I...we both decided to keep our relationship under wraps, at least as long as the threat of Corypheus remained. My being who I was, and his being who he is, if people knew they could jump to certain conclusions and then..."

"They'd think Ferelden or the Wardens were planning on taking over the Inquisition," Mia said.

"Or the mages, or Amaranthine, or...Maker, I'm too many people," she sighed which earned a quick snort from Mia.

"You're really her?" Mia glanced up and down Lana, no doubt sizing up the tiny mage tossed back in pain against the couch, "The great stopper of the blight, savior of thedas?"

Lana bobbed her head, "I'm afraid so. Never what anyone's expecting and there are more than a few Arl's and Bann's that can quote me on that."

Snickering at that, Mia adjusted herself in the hard chair, then crossed her legs. She wore trousers which made her stand out in the chantry see of robes, thick and padded to deal with the full winter of Ferelden. Somehow the true winds Lana expected, the cold bitter enough to freeze your hair to a brittle breaking point, never touched here. At least not yet. She kept waiting for a real storm to land. Looking at Mia, a curious feeling swarmed through Lana's gut and she started realizing it was homesickness. Not for the tower, or even the Vigil, but Ferelden itself. To be surrounded by barking dogs instead of the lap rats they had here, to smell crisp winds even in the height of summer, and to gaze out at the knotted cliffs and waving grasses. She missed it more than she ever thought possible.

"Why Cullen?"

Lana blinked a few times, dragging herself from her flight of fancy. "Beg pardon?"

"I can get why some of the gigglier specimens in Orlais think chasing down a Ferelden Commander would be fun. No doubt they imagine we're all secret Avar barbarians who'll toss them over their shoulders for _conquering_ on bearskin rugs," Mia rolled her eyes at Orlesian stereotypes which were rather accurate. "But you're a Commander yourself, a...shit, you're an Arlessa, aren't you?" Lana nodded and bit her lip. "You could command the attention of people with real titles, land. Why my brother?"

Lana turned her frustrated sigh into a forced smile. She was tired of having to explain what seemed obvious to her, but perhaps family needed to know. "I'm technically as much of a no one as Cullen. My family is...there is no title passed down. I'm a mage, nothing to claim. A Warden, much the same. And..." Maker, why was this so hard? She felt she had to chose her words carefully, to prove she wasn't in it for-for what? A shot at infiltrating the Inquisition? At Cullen's power? Bragging rights?

Dropped her eyes to her lap, Lana watched her fingers thread through each other. With a steady voice, she laid out the truth, the full of it, "I had the worst crush on Cullen when I was an apprentice. Giggled like a braying mule near him, would try and find elaborate ways to talk to him, to, Maker help me, just stand near him. It never went anywhere, not in the tower, not when we were so opposed. I never thought it would go anywhere, then the world upended itself."

She twisted her hand over the solitary ring upon her middle finger, the band enchanted to increase her magic. In truth, the enchantment ran out ages ago. She wore it now because it was familiar and she liked the blue stones embedded deep within. Lana had a habit of holding onto things she loved beyond reason. "We found each other again, years after the blight, after we'd both changed from the war, from command itself I suppose."

"At Skyhold?" Mia asked, and Lana looked over at her for a moment.

"No, it was a few years before that. He was still with the templars and I a warden. I needed him to help with...a warden matter. Cullen didn't need to volunteer but he came, and we, well, reached out to each other. It was foolish, both of us knowing that nothing would ever come of it as we belonged to organizations above and beyond us, but...I don't regret it now and I didn't then."

"I...see," Mia leaned back, her fingers curled around her chin in contemplation. Whatever she was thinking was beyond Lana, who felt herself clinging by strands to make sense of any of this. What she needed was a book on navigating relationships to guide her, though it was doubtful there'd be a chapter called: So Your Dead Lover Is Back From The Grave And She Was Once Intimate With The King.

After a moment, Mia's fingers dropped and she glanced over at her, "I'm afraid that I know little about you, beyond the..."

"Rumors?" Lana sighed, tipping her head back to stare at the ceiling. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the glint of her plant happily consuming the sunbeams through the stained glass heart of Andraste. "I know some of them. There's the one that I'm a blood mage. Not true, for obvious reasons. That I'm the power behind the throne in Ferelden. Also not true, it was bad enough trying to keep an Arling in line."

"What of the King?"

Lana's half hearted smile crashed at Mia's innocuous question. She drug her head down and turned to the woman wearing a curious look on her face. _Sweet Maker, did Cullen tell her about Alistair? Would he?_ Lana's brain scrambled to make any sense of the quagmire she walked herself into. "We were together before he took up the crown, but the moment he did it...we stopped being involved." A truth, of sorts. They could save the full of it for breakfast during First Day.

Mia scooted forward a bit, her face unreadable. Tapping her fingers a few more times against her mouth, she rolled her tongue in her mouth before speaking. "What's he like?"

"Alistair?" Lana snorted, "Did you ask your brother his opinion?"

"No," Mia shook her head, "should I?"

"You won't get much of an answer but it's rather entertaining to watch. Ah, Alistair is light hearted. He's a butterfly wafting over the grass, little touches him, but the things that do send him crashing to the dirt."

"I hear he's funny," she seemed enthralled with gossiping about royalty.

"To some people, he is. To others he's as trying as a rash. I am the former, but even to me his jokes could grate from time to time. Sweet, airy, and he cares to a dangerous degree sometimes."

Mia nodded along with each piece of information as if she was writing it all down for a book. As Lana fell to silence, uncertain what to say next, Mia's eyes darted up. "And what of my brother?"

"Cullen's the most determined person I've ever met. He makes me feel stronger, safer, more at ease. Each of his rare smiles blossoms inside of my veins, warming me, sometimes for hours after. And Maker, I could watch him move about all day," Lana mused to herself, thinking of the last time she held him in her arms.

"All right," Mia coughed, "I was wondering what he thought of the King but that was...interesting to hear. Maybe not so much the last part."

"Ah," Lana scrunched up her eyes and then dug her hands across her cheeks to try and hide the embarrassment charring them. "That wasn't meant to, I only...sorry. To, uh, sorry. But you should ask him yourself, if only for the sneer."

Mia sighed, and stuck her fist upon her hip, "That sneer. Would you believe he used to do the same when he was only a child? Three years old, running around bare assed and sneering because he refused to put on trousers."

Chuckling at the picture, Lana could easily see his trademark sneer having been something crafted at birth. "So it's not a Rutherford trait then? It comes so natural, I'd assumed..."

"No, that's all on Cullen. Branson has a little twist to his lips whenever he's perturbed, makes him look like a right ass but he thinks it's sophisticated."

"A sophisticated ass," Lana said.

"Which is the worst kind to have around. And Del's too flighty to ever sneer, or remember why she should be sneering in the first place. Total baby of the family syndrome with her," Mia leaned forward, a hand over her mouth as if whispering a secret. "What about your family?"

"I, uh," Lana waved her fingers around as if that could offer up an explanation, "I don't have any family. I was sent to the tower when I was six, and they chose to not keep in contact."

"Oh..." Mia paused, the member of a large, happy family uncertain how to react to someone from a broken one. Somehow the happy always had troubles understanding the sad, but never the other way around.

"It's not so bad," Lana said, "there are others who had it far worse. Arriving at the tower at 13 or 14, remembering their parents and siblings vividly only to have it all cut away because of..." She almost called it the Maker's curse. It sat in her brain like a black weevil buried deep inside a bag of flour. Even with every step she made, every embrace of who she was proving that mages weren't evil, the weevil remained reminding her that she was less than. A danger. Slapping on a smile, she changed directions, "I remember some of my life before. There was a small farm I grew up on."

"In the Free Marches?" Mia said.

"Yes," Lana was surprised, few knew her origins didn't begin in Ferelden. "West of Kirkwall, rather a bit west. It wasn't much, a few goats here, some sorghum there. What I really remember are the apple trees stretched across the horizon. Dozens of them waiting for children to scurry up in the branches and snatch away their fruit. I..." The memory stung back. She'd returned to that farm once, oddly enough with Alistair in tow. Maker, she didn't even know why. All her life, friends were her family, the people she chose, but after becoming the Hero she thought she needed something more. That was a mistake that tainted the few happy memories she clung to of her origins.

Through the dark mood, a bright thought lifted her lips and she smiled, "I do have one family member, Hawke. The Champion of Kirkwall."

"You're related to the Champion," Mia's eyes widened again and she looked over the tiny mage.

"Believe me, we look almost nothing alike. Act almost nothing alike too, but she's...she's the best cousin I could ask for that I didn't." Her eyes darted down to her lap, when Mia reached over and patted her hand.

"Family can be a right pain, but you make what you can with it," she said, nodding her head. Lana smiled at her for that, and she returned it. Then she leaned back and shook her head, "I swear, I could drop that man off a mountain for keeping you from us."

Lana laughed at the idea, "There were good reasons, but hopefully, that won't be an issue any longer."

That caught Mia, and she turned a curious eye on Lana. Before she could ask a question, the door burst open and Cullen ran through the foyer into the sitting room. His hair was slicked back in saliva as if a massive tongue lapped over his head, and mud splattered his clothes, but otherwise he looked none the worse for the wear.

"I'm here, I'm..." his eyes wild, he glanced around the room before spotting the two of them calmly sitting near the hearth chatting. "It's, are you two...?"

"Take care of the druffalo?" Lana asked innocently.

"Ah..."

"Let me guess, fingers up the nostrils then pinch back," Mia said, waving her hand as if it was no big deal.

"Tried that, but it wasn't actually a...you're both, um," Cullen glanced around the room as if he expected to find furniture tossed around and on fire. "You're..."

"Maker's breath," Mia waved her hand dismissively, "go and get cleaned up. You reek of druffalo shit."

"That," Cullen paused and lifted up his shirt to give it a good sniff. After crinkling his nose, he dropped it and slid towards their bathing room but not before casting one more concerned look at Lana. "Are you certain...?"

"Yes, don't worry. We'll still be here when you get out."

"Having a civilized conversation, no less," Mia spat back with. "Would you care for a drink?" she asked Lana, who tried to stagger to her feet to help, but she waved it away, "Don't worry, I know where the cups are."

"I..." uncertain what to do, Cullen walked backwards into their bathroom, his eyes bulging as he watched them. Once the door closed, Mia and Lana both broke into unending giggles.


	10. Prayer

A hundred voices rose up from the rows of pews below, each chant bolstered by its harmonious sister to create a haunting and beautiful song echoing through the sanctuary. Candles sputtered in little battalions upon the altar, next to it, and more tucked beside the pews. They glowed less like flame and more a multitude of stars pocked against a moonless night. While all the members of the chantry clustered together in the first fifteen rows, their heads bent over in fealty, a lone figure watched from the balcony above. She sat perched in a worn chair, her chin upon the railing as she gazed downward at the procession below.

Leliana was easy to see, of course, having the greatest hat and leading the services. She was supposed to stand by and wait for the song to finish, but Lana could see her chin dropping low and her mouth widening. The bard couldn't give up her song. While it was interesting to watch her old friend guide an entire chantry full of people during vespers, her real attention was on the man bent upon the kneelers.

Cullen stood out, not that it was difficult being surrounded by 80% women. The few brothers in the Grand Cathedral kept to the back, or seemed to skip this service in general. She wondered if that bothered Cullen, to be singled out so easily, but if he felt put off he didn't show it. His hands were pressed together tight, his head bowed as he bobbed along the washing sea of the chant. The only disturbance to his fervor was the woman beside him. Every once in awhile Mia would do something, Lana couldn't tell what at such a distance, and Cullen would twist his head enough to glance over at his sister.

It'd been about a week since her arrival, and after the embarrassing first meeting, Lana and she began to get on. Many more moons would have to pass before it became a friendship, but the foundation was there. It certainly helped how much Mia bore in common with her brother, even if neither would admit it. And, for all his grumblings about his sister sticking her nose where it didn't belong, Cullen seemed genuinely happy to have her around. He even took her on a walking tour of the famous Val Royeaux bazaar, surprising Lana because she didn't think he even knew of its existence.

"You're not down there with them?" a voice drew forth from behind her and Lana broke away from the siblings to find Detan haunting around the edges of the balcony. It was in a state of disrepair, most of the upholstery on the chairs split and faded, rotted wood cracking, metal hinges bent, and old bunting from some long dead Divine wafted off the ceiling. No one intended to use it save the ghost of the Cathedral.

"I..." Lana staggered up to her feet to face the elf. Her mind traipsed around how to explain her absence. "No, I don't consider it my place."

"I see," Detan said. She was dressed as she always was; utilitarian, grey, stark. Lana wondered why she kept herself so plain, but it dawned upon her that the elf was trying to blend in with so many humans. There was a great amount of work put into her appearance to make her vanish within the folds of the chantry, which Lana understood well.

"What of you?" Lana asked. Her hand skirted along the balcony railing, and she glanced down as all the chantry rose for a benediction. She knew the lines from her days as an apprentice but didn't feel them. Certainly not the way Cullen did.

Detan's wary eyes slipped around the edges, "What of me?"

"Elves were officially welcomed into the bosom of the chantry," Lana recited the both blessing and grievance on everyone's lips. Leliana was right, it wasn't the mages freedom that had everyone up in arms but the idea of having to share a pew with a knife ear.

Without a clipboard to hide behind, Detan's fingers tugged at her sleeves, yanking them out of their tight roll. How had Lana never noticed how long they were? Her clothes barely fit without pinning in place as if they were purchased second hand and hemmed to fit her. "I, the Divine has been more than welcoming of my people, but...um," her eyes widened even more in the weak light to the point they looked like reflective pools sunken in her face.

Shaking her head, Lana rescued her, "You don't need to kiss Leliana's ass for me. I can handle criticism of her, and so can she, in certain doses."

Detan nodded, but she looked wary, put off by the shem who could be giving her just enough rope to hang herself. "If'n you'll forgive my wagging tongue, my Lady, but..." she stepped primly down the aisle to stand beside Lana. Her own wary eyes darted over the procession down below, taking in the elaborate grandeur of something denied to elves for centuries. "There's the decree in city squares that something is open to all, and then there's the reality of praying beside dozens of humans. People don't willingly give up their assumed space, it has to be fought for inch by inch, drop by drop, and I'm afraid I don't have the stomach for it." She ran her fingers over the balcony, her pale pink nails smudging up ancient dust, "Not all of us are fighters."

"I understand," Lana said, then she snorted and shook her head, "No, not entirely. But, I can try to. In truth, that's why I'm up here."

"I don't understand, you're human, right? Fully. There was no mention of an elven parent," Detan glanced up and down Lana as if trying to find some hidden elven blood. In truth, there could be. She'd heard of other half elves who passed without anyone noticing, and then there were others who lived forever between worlds.

"Yes, I am human to the best of my knowledge. It is..." she sighed, aware of the trap she talked herself into. "As you said, there is the smiling face on the sign outside the chantry, and the scowling one at the altar. The chantry was...has never been my place of succor. It is not welcoming of people like me, and I doubt that will be changing anytime soon."

"I see," Detan's eyes hunted over Lana, but she didn't glance over at the elf's dissecting gaze. She was focused upon the statue of Andraste, over twenty feet tall and white as snow. It towered above all the worshipers prostrated below. The prophet's hands were turned heavenward as if she was parting the air from all the filthy magic cast upon the people by the Tevinter Magisters.

Magic should serve man and not rule over him.

Seemed simple enough, but what was serving? Was it being stripped from your home, tossed into a circle, and left to rot until you were needed by the whim of a King or army? Was it devoting your life to helping others the way the chantry was supposed to? Could the magic ever be viewed as nothing more than a tool, the same way people looked at a hammer or a saw?

Maker, this was why she stopped setting foot inside chantries. All they did was churn up her own self loathing buried deep below her skin but never gone. The entire foundation was built upon containing people like her, others cursed by the Maker. Then again...

Lana turned over to watch Detan, her watery eyes trailing across the prophetess' face with a humble fervor. Andraste also fought to free the elves, not just from slavery but into society. And look at how well they kept to that founding ideal. Any attempts by Leliana to return to it are shouted down and ignored. There were rumors of chantries being set ablaze by their own Mothers who'd face the flames rather than having to serve elves. Lana didn't blame Detan one bit for avoiding that fight. She doubted she could do the same for mages.

"What are they doing?" Detan asked, shaking Lana from her revere.

"Hm..." Lana glanced down as everyone gathered in a line. "Oh, they're receiving the Mother's blessing. In this case, the Divine's. It's a kind of cleansing of your sins. You step forward with your mind full of whatever's darkened your heart, the Mother waves that lit flame over your head and burns them free." Below them the Grand Clerics began first, each one tipping her head low to make certain the hat didn't catch on fire.

Lana's eyes wandered down the rows and rows of uniform robes, all the same hue and shade as the one before. The chantry thrived on always taking the smooth path and never deviating. In the middle of the white river stood a green rock, Cullen's hands wrapped around each other as he waited patiently.

"Does it work?" Detan asked, even more curious.

Lana knew the worries in his heart, some of them at least. The ones he'd whisper to her about the Inquisition, about his future, but nothing haunted him the way the past did. Those were the sins Cullen never seemed to be able to absolve himself of.

Sighing, Lana whispered, "Depends on if you believe or not."

 

* * *

 

With a break in the storms, it seemed time for Mia to return home to Ferelden proper. She'd enjoyed the vacation away but Maker only knew what her full house got up to while she was gone. Cullen understood, Orlais was only for the stoutest of constitutions, but a part of him was sorry she had to go. He'd had so little time to visit his family even after Corypheus fell. Or, in truth, he made certain he didn't have time. Watching his siblings give chase to their rambunctious children, get into petty arguments with their spouses and in general love home life dug into him. He didn't have that, any of the certainty of a family at home or serenity of peace. Only a hole where his heart had once been.

Glancing over at the woman with one hand upon Honor's head and the other on her cane, he smiled. He had it now. Lana's eyes darted over to him and she smiled a question, no doubt at the way he was worshiping her with his look. Instead of answering her, Cullen slid an arm around her waist and pulled her close to plant a kiss on her head. Her giggle traveled through her ribcage and up his arm, causing Cullen to smile wider in return. Reaching closer, he couldn't feel Lana's ribs prodding out from below the wool surcoat she wore to fend off the cold, which was an improvement from when they first arrived. He didn't understand why it was taking her so long to put back on the weight, but she didn't seem too bothered by it.

Breaking away from the dog, Lana slid her fingers up Cullen's arm and turned in his grasp, her lips searching for his.

"I think that's about...Oh, not again," Mia groaned, causing them to break apart with a pair of matching blushes. "It's a damn good thing I'm leaving now before this gets any more awkward," Mia stormed but he spotted a soft smile warping her lips below the sisterly annoyance.

"Is that all you brought?" Cullen asked gesturing to the lone bag knotted up against the caravan's other goods. Two great horses tramped in the snow champing at the bit to get moving, their breath foaming in the cold. It was a lucky thing so many merchants were moving too and fro across the border. He had to give Alistair that one, Orlais and Ferelden hadn't been this friendly since before the invasion.

Mia rolled her eyes, "What? That's not enough? You think I shoulda drug a chifforobe around or something?"

"No, only...never mind," he shook his head, trying to shake off the prick of embarrassment only his family could cause.

Reaching forward, Mia caught Lana's hand in both of hers and patted it once. Lana smiled and returned it, "It's been a pleasure meeting you."

"You sure about that?" Mia startled at her word, her eyes darting over to her brother.

Lana chuckled, "Believe me, I've had far rockier first impressions from some of my better friends. And, none of them can tell me the more entertaining tales of Cullen's childhood."

"Oh Maker," he groaned. This was why he did his best to always be around both Lana and Mia instead of leaving them alone. "What did you tell her?"

"Nothing too salacious, dear brother. Maybe a few of the more embarrassing yarns about that time you borrowed mother's pans to fashion yourself a set of plate armor and went out to hunt a dragon."

"I...that's not, I was only six!" he tried to not shout right at her.

Lana reached over to pat his cheek, no doubt warming her hand instantly from the flush, "There there, it's quite adorable." Unable to wipe away Cullen's frown, she curled her fingers through his scruff and then turned to Mia, "Whatever happened to the vanquished dragon?"

"We kept that blighted tiny lizard for a good year if I remember right. What did you name it?"

"I am not playing this game," Cullen pouted, wishing his sister would leave already.

Mia leaned closer to Lana and whispered loud enough he could hear, "I'll ask Branson, he'll remember and then write to you."

"Good," Lana smiled, folding her arms back into her cloak against the rising winds.

After patting Lana once on the shoulder, Mia turned back to her grumbling brother, "And you, when are you going to get back to proper civilization?"

"I..." his eyes darted over to Lana who was happily scratching Honor's head without a concern in the world. "There are a few more issues to handle by letter before I am required in Skyhold. I'm hoping to keep my visit there as brief as possible. I don't want to leave Lana alone for long."

"You don't need to worry about me," Lana laughed. "I have Leliana to help, and Honor should we need any bandits disposed of."

Cullen sighed, "I know," he fluffed up his dog's slick coat, which Honor in turn answered the attempt by licking his hand, "but I cannot help it, worrying may be what I am best at."

Her doe eyes dropped wider into compassion as she lightly trailed her finger down his elbow, knotting it against the sheep's wool that bunched up at the joint in his coat. Mia coughed, her eyes darting down the street. "Ah, I did forget something. Think you can help?" she asked, shooting a look at Cullen.

"I believe so," he answered, trailing with her towards what looked like a small stand currently boarded up against the press of winter. As they turned the corner, Mia paused and folded her arms. "I...what do you need help with?"

"Maker's breath," she rolled her eyes and shook her head at the clear ruse she pulled to get him away for a private talk. Cullen bounced back and forth on his toes, feeling even more foolish for falling for its obviousness. "Now, you're going to write, right?"

"Yes," he said, bobbing his head.

"Good, and to all of us, even Del because she's been in a mood as of late after the baby and she loves having letters from the 'Commander of the Inquisition' to flash around."

"Wonderful, that's probably why it seems all of thedas knows I'm here," he grumbled, but intending to follow his sister's orders. He feared the consequences of disobeying.

"I know you won't be finished up by Satinalia, but you should get back home in time for Wintersend. Paint some eggs for your nephew and nieces."

"You mean try to not crush the fragile egg shell," Cullen sighed, aware of how well his attempts went when he was a child.

Mia chuckled, "That's half the fun, and why we've got so damn many of the backups around." She patted once along his shoulder in a friendly manner, then her eyes winnowed down to a death stare, "And, for the love of the Maker, Cullen, do not screw up what you have with her."

"I..."

"It ain't often the Maker sees fit to make someone that...shit, she's the damn Hero of Ferelden and for some reason seems to be smitten with you. I don't know what trick you pulled to manage it, but..."

"By the void, Mia. I know that, okay," he spat, well aware of the lifetime opportunity afforded him.

She blinked at his outburst, and then sighed out of her nose, "If you will let me finish, I was going to say that you make a lifelong habit of diminishing yourself but that girl, sorry, woman, she's your fit. Maybe not perfect, but what is? So don't screw it up by second guessing things, okay? You deserve happiness even if you think you don't."

With his eyes on their boots covered in snow, Cullen laughed at her accurate words, "I will do my very best to remember that."

"Good," she slugged him once in the shoulder, then turned back, "Now give me one last hug before I set out. I can't wait to get out of this blighted country and return to a proper one. If it weren't for your mabari I'd fear I'd gone deaf from the lack of barking here. It's not natural."

Laughing at her always right assessments, Cullen obliged his sister with their family hug. The last time they'd embraced in such a manner he was all of thirteen and about to leap onto a broken down nag to head towards Denerim for templar training. Despite it being twenty some years later, and his mind having hardened against all manner of pain and horror thedas could conjure, he felt like the frightened child saying goodbye to his overbearing and loving sister.

"The world's taken enough from you," Mia whispered to him, "time you took some back." Slugging him once more on the shoulder, she walked crisply to the wagon, patted Honor, gave Lana a gentle hug and then leapt onto the seat. As the caravan rattled away, the wheels and footprints disturbing the grey sludge of the street's snow, Cullen wrapped an arm around Lana and pulled her tight. She melted against him, wrapping herself tighter even if she didn't need the support. The first time he walked away from his family he had nothing but the fire in his soul. Now, a new fire stirred in his heart lit by the hope of the woman wrapped in his arms.


	11. Birthday

Watching Lana dig into her pockets, Cullen felt the curious stares of the watch guards beside the internal chantry door. Instead of templars it was some of Orlais' soldiers generously donated by Celene to the chantry during its time of need. Of course it raised the question of who they truly answered to, but it wasn't as if anything of great importance would happen at the door out of the Grand Cathedral.

"Maker's balls," Lana cursed, her hands coming up empty. The swearing drew more glares from Mothers but once they saw who let it slip a few pursed their lips and their admonishments died. _Strange._

"What is it?" Cullen asked, already sweating under the heavy coat and wishing the chantry braziers came with a setting lower than the face of the sun.

"I lost one of my gloves," she sighed, waving the solitary left one in her fingers.

"I can go and find it..." Cullen offered, prepared to head back up the stairs.

But Lana waved her hand, "No, I have this. I suspect I know where it fell out. Honor," she called to the dog waiting patiently at their side. "We've got a glove to find." Mage and mabari limped back towards the living quarters of the chantry, leaving Cullen alone at the doorstop with nothing to show for it.

He nodded once at the guards who gave him a sympathetic wince before turning back to staring into the chantry proper. After a few minutes of absently inspecting the air, Cullen began to wonder if he shouldn't chase after Lana when the guards snapped to attention. Lifting his eyes away from the nails he tried to pick clean, Cullen spotted a great entourage flowing behind the Divine. Guards circled around it like vultures would above a corpse, the grit in their jaws far more impressive than the two left by the door. He began to slide back to give the Divine passage out to Val Royeaux. She was wrapped up in a conversation with three different people, all of them flapping their sleeves to make exuberant points, which she deftly batted away. Seeming to be consumed by politics, Cullen assumed she wouldn't spot him.

"Ah, Commander."

He was known to be wrong.

Gently parting her flock as if they were sheets dangling upon a line, Leliana slid towards the man trying to meld into the wall. "What brings you down here today? Without your dog no less."

"Honor's off with Lana searching for a lost glove. We were going to take a stroll through the markets to try and savor the snow free day."

A smile turned up Divine Victoria's face, "It is a true gift of the Maker to grace us with such a beautiful morning in the midst of a trying winter."

Murmurs of agreement broke from her entourage, a few adding their own grateful prayers to the Maker or Andraste. Leliana barely waited for them to finish before she leaned closer to Cullen. "Is Lanny up to it?"

"She swears she is, but that's why I'm bringing Honor with. In the event it wears on her, we can find a sled and tow her back."

A half a smile curled up Leliana's cheek; she clearly found the idea of Lana being pulled by a one dog open sleigh amusing. Wiping it back down to her magnanimous Divine facade, she bowed her head. "It sounds a joyous time for all."

"I suppose so," Cullen blinked, trying to keep abreast of all the aloof greetings. He'd just managed to reach the point of seeing Leliana hiding under the office while in the apartments. Returning to the remote Divine was unnerving.

He was about to bow his goodbyes to the Divine, when Leliana darted forward and whispered, "I assume you're planning this as a way to celebrate Lanny's birthday."

_What?!_

"Ah...I, um, yes?" limped out of Cullen's mouth.

 _It was her birthday? How didn't he know that?_ That should be something he knew. Right? Most certainly. Cullen's brain panicked, but years at the helm of an army taught him to keep his face neutral.

Leliana only offered a quick once over at his response before she slipped back, "Enjoy your day, Commander."

"And, uh, yours..." he called out to the retreating Divine and her conclave of very important chantry clerics.

Once they slipped around a corner, he slapped his forehead in consternation. _Maker's breath, her birthday? What was he going to do?_ She hadn't said a word about it, merely suggested this morning they head out because the snows finally broke. Had she been waiting expectantly the whole morning for him to wish her a happy birthday? _Sweet Andraste, what was he going to do?_

"Found it!" Lana's voice echoed over the solemn faces of both the stone statues as well as the chantry clergy. Waving her claimed glove high in her hand, she limped towards Cullen with what looked only like proud glee on her face. He tried to find a hint of any sorrow at his forgetting, but there seemed to be none there. _Did she expect him to forget or was there hope of a greater surprise later?_

She extended her arm to him and smiled up, "Shall we?"

"Of course, yes," Cullen bobbed his head at her and took her arm in his. Snuggling in tighter than she needed to, Lana moved with his body towards the front door while Honor barreled to the front. Cullen fought to keep a tremor out of his legs as his mind panicked, whispering that he failed at this before he even began. Why must relationships be as difficult as leaping blindfolded across a swamp that's also set on fire? Perhaps it was his imagination, but he could have sworn the two stone faced guards snickered at his predicament as they walked past.

He was screwed.

In what came as no surprise, the market place overflowed with people rushing to fill orders and their pantries thanks to the snows breaking for a quick reprieve. Weather mages weren't known to be exact, but nearly all of them predicted another large storm looming on the horizon and no one wanted to be caught unawares. Because of that, Cullen was in a particularly fouler mood than usual, his anger increasing with each pointed shoe that tread over his foot and gilded elbow digging into his side.

Lana sighed at the press of bodies, her voice barely audible over the all encompassing din of hundreds of Orlesians screaming for what they wanted. Screaming was accurate. No one in Orlais seemed capable of any patience. Everyone crowded around a stand, their manicured fingers heaving royals or gold at the clerk and shouting at the top of their lungs for what they wanted. More than a few stands seemed to have been swallowed up by the horde, most likely to never be seen again.

The only plus to the madness was that in order to avoid being accidentally struck, Lana had to keep close to him, nearly her entire arm wrapped around his back. On occasion her hip brushed past his thigh and Cullen felt a small flush at the memory of his hands digging across her naked flesh as he... No, not the time, and certainly not the place.

That wasn't what he needed to be focusing on anyway. Somehow he needed to come up with a present while the birthday girl stood right beside him. Maker, finishing off Corypheus seemed an easier task. For her part, Lana seemed happy and still gave no impression she was in anyway miffed at his bungle. On occasion, she'd pause and point at something that caught her eye, which gave Cullen hope it'd be a potential option, only to have her snicker at how ostentatious, gaudy, or confusing it was.

"Maker's breath, I haven't been surrounded by this many people since...come to think of it, I'm not certain," she said, sliding the pair of them away from a poor shopkeep succumbing to the crushing wave of customers.

"You never had to attend any parades in your honor?" Cullen asked.

"No, I always managed to find a good excuse to get out of it. 'I killed an archdemon and can do what I want' worked for years."

He snorted at that as they came to rest beside a small jewelry stand. Nothing ornate, the wares seemed to be made up of small baubles and simple wire knotted together to make bracelets. "Aren't you lucky. I wound up walking in a good half dozen I believe. There were a few after the Qunari invasion was repelled to show the chantry's strength, or something of that nature, and even more after Corypheus fell."

"I bet you didn't have to literally walk in the last ones," Lana smiled, her fingers prodding over a pinkie sized blue gem shaped like a tear. He watched her curious to see if that was something special to catch her eye so.

"How do you know that?"

"You were the big heroes, those always get horses to ride on. Keeps you from having to walk through shit."

"I thought you avoided all the parades," he smiled, softly cupping his hand over the small of her back.

Lana sighed, "Very well, there was one and I was too young to know to weasel my way out of that."

"Right after the archdemon died," Cullen spoke more to himself, but Lana glanced over her shoulder at him.

"Yes, I...it was strange to be up there, be lauded after a near on year of ducking attention and worrying about assassins at any moment. I...didn't enjoy it." He remembered well. It was what he thought would be the last time he'd ever see her after she rescued him from the tower. A dull pain rolled up Cullen's stomach and suddenly he needed to touch her. Sliding closer, he drew his fingers over her cheek reminding himself she was here with him. Lana smiled in kind, her fingers wrapped around his.

After breaking away, Lana snagged the shopkeep's attention who asked her a few questions in Orlesian. Lana responded in kind and smiled brightly before, to Cullen's consternation, she placed a few silvers in the man's hand and deposited the small bauble into her deep pockets. So much for that idea.

Trying to hide his obvious regret, Cullen wrapped his hand around her arm and asked as nonchalantly as possible, "What is that gem for?"

"Hm...? Oh, Leliana and I, we have a sort of contest between us. It's a bit silly, but whenever we're in a market place we try and find each other something small but memorable that also follows along the color spectrum. She last got me these purple gloves," Lana waved her fingers warm inside those hard fought gloves, "so I spotted that indigo bead and thought it perfect."

"Ah, it's for...I understand, I think," he shook his head, accepting that Lana was going to be no help in picking out her own present.

Holding her closer, the pair returned to the river of bodies running the length of the first half of the market. The proper bazaar was closed up for winter and it offered true ceilings with stands embedded into the stone passed down in families for centuries. This was more a case of people nailing up a few boxes for a stand, tossing all they could grab out of their houses across them and marking everything's price up before the next round of storms. It wasn't fancy but it got the job done.

"This is rather lively," Lana giggled, shuffling to keep up with the press.

"It's not too much, is it? We could stop," Cullen offered, wishing she'd take the out. He was growing tired of it five minutes in.

"No, no," Lana laughed, "I'm good. Where's Honor?"

"Slobbering at the back of my knee," Cullen assured her. While the mabari at first afforded them a bit more breathing room, as the sun rose along with the temperature more and more Orlesians flocked outside. Standing-room-only barely applied, they were approaching wall-climbing-room-only soon. The buzzing burned at the back of his head, and he'd give anything to slip out of the crowd for a few quiet moments with Lana, but she seemed to be enjoying herself and he still had to solve the birthday dilemma.

"Ooh," Lana pointed at something in the distance and broke off from the thick crowds to cluster near a smaller press of bodies. Dangling off what looked like a dismantled gibbet were woven rugs. A sign proclaimed them "100% Rivaini" which meant they were probably stitched together in Jader.

As people jostled them closer together, Lana laughed, "You know, the first time I ever entered a market place was rather hilarious."

"Oh?" he struggled to keep up with her conversation and satiate the buzzing in his head.

"Mm hmm," she slid her arm around his back and tried to raise up higher so he'd hear. "There were so many options I had no idea what I was supposed to choose. In the tower, we were given what we needed. So, I stood there like an idiot for a good five minutes not saying a thing and waiting for someone to hand over the necessary supplies. Poor shopkeep grinned at me, I'd smile back and resume waiting. He had to think I was mute or suffered serious brain trauma."

"What happened?"

"One of my companions stepped in, wondered what was taking so long and then rather patiently explained how it all worked," her smiled faltered for a moment and Cullen realized he didn't need to ask who that companion was. "The worst was money though. I didn't entirely get the decimalization aspect. A coin's a coin and all. I tried to pay for something that cost 12 silver with a hundred and twenty coppers."

"Maker's breath, how did you even carry around a hundred and twenty coppers?"

Lana shrugged, "I never noticed the weight of coins much what with all the other gear loaded on my back. The tower does a poor job of preparing people for the real world." Her words trailed off as she ran her palm over her middle finger and the ring bulging below the glove. "I wonder sometimes how the mages managed during the rebellions. We rarely cooked for ourselves, never faced cold or wolves, they'd have had little shelter while on the run and never learned how to create their own. If it weren't for Redcliffe taking them in..."

He'd never thought about it, how debilitating life in the tower was. Most mages arrived around age thirteen and up, but some like Lana could spend nearly their entire childhood growing up in one. Never running in the rain, or buying a melon to cut up right there on the grassy knoll before heading home. They'd always seemed so capable and certain in their actions, almost to a smug degree, because they had to be. If not, then people began to question if that mage could survive a demon's temptations, if they could be trusted. It used to gnaw on his nerves the way some mages would walk into a room as if it was grateful to have their addition, but how many of the cocksure ones fell to nothing more than not knowing how to cook or recognize potable water?

Fingers dug up his arm, drawing him out of his thoughts. He smiled at Lana trying to assure her he was all right, but something of his dark thoughts must have shown through. "Perhaps we should try and disentangle ourselves from the twitching mass of consumers for a bit. I wouldn't be against finding something to eat," she smiled.

"Your appetite could put a dragon to shame," he sighed, aware of the breakfast they had not even two hours ago. Then he grimaced, not meaning any offense by it. He was happy to see it as she tried to overcome not only her forced fasting but the pull of the taint as well.

Before Cullen could apologize, Lana waved it away with a laugh, "The moment I breathe fire, then you should grow concerned. Until such a time, a few villager sacrifices every once in awhile to me is all I'll need."

Chuckling at her quick rescue of himself, Cullen brushed his lips across her forehead. "Are you certain you don't want to purchase anything from this stand?"

"No, I only thought we should draw away from the horde. Unless you have a thing for 'Rivaini' rugs," Lana gestured at the garish hues and fraying edges of the knockoff options.

Grimacing from the goods as well as the fact he still had no answer for her birthday, Cullen sighed, "No, I don't. Come on, I know a small shop that has pastries nearly the size of your head."

Honor led the way through the pack, her nose permanently etched to the ground as she sniffed up every footstep from half of Val Royeaux. Mesmerized by it, Lana kept pointing at her and wondering aloud, "What do you think she gets out of all that nosing? It can't be more than a moment's scent before she shuffles past. And yet, she never stops. It's fascinating."

Unaware of her audience, Honor paused, the ridge of hair along her back lifting in a nearly straight arrow. Her head darted to the right, set in place. Cullen stopped, dread filling his stomach until his dog darted forward through the crowds and lapped up a dropped heel of bread off the filthy ground. His body slackening, he sighed, "I believe that is what she gets out of it."

Lana chuckled at their silly dog's lust for food and followed the lead towards the bakery Cullen knew of. Quaint in only the way a shop in Val Royeaux could be, it bore the bright sky blues and white valences of nearly all the others around the city. As they drew to the door Honor began to bark in staccato, her voice all but demanding someone come out and answer her. He tried to get her to quiet down, but her blasted summons worked and the proprietor of the shop bustled out. Barely glancing at the people crowding his bakery, the portly man dropped to a knee to shove Maker only knew how many tarts into Honor's greedy face.

"I take it you two stop here often," Lana said, a soft quirk to her face.

"Not by my wishes, but as you can see, she tends to demand it," Cullen sighed, watching the baker pet Honor as she finished up the last of her free meal.

After wiping off his hands upon the wadded up apron, he turned to the pair of them and in a thick Orlesian accent said, "Ah, monsieur with the silly puppy, and this must be the mademoiselle you speak so highly of."

He picked up Lana's hand and shook it gently before bowing so deep, Cullen caught a curious smirk rising across Lana's lips. Before she could finish it, the baker rose up. "What brings you by today?"

"We were at the market," Cullen said, then sneered, "attempting to shop at the market, and my...the Lady grew hungry."

"Of course, of course." He had that rosy cheeked, bright eyed face you'd expect to find on a storybook grandfather. It suited him well as the kindly corner store baker, though his love of greedy mabari couldn't be helping the bottom line. "What is your beautiful stomach in the taste for?"

Now Lana giggled, pulled in by the man's charms, "I heard tale of a pastry nearly the size of my head."

"Mademoiselle," the baker started, his eyes darting down her tiny frame that looked as if it could at best hold a grape. "Are you certain you can handle such a monstrous feast?"

"In fact, I might require two," she fake whispered near him.

Throwing his head back so far it was a wonder his deflated cap didn't tumble off, the baker laughed uproariously as if all of life was a jest and only he caught the joke. "Please," he reached a hand out and Lana took it, falling into line with the baker as he led her into his shop, "come with me. A woman of your unique distinction requires something extra special."

Cullen glanced down at his dog, who after slurping down her second breakfast was now chewing on her leg. Dipping to a knee, he ran a hand over her dark grey fur while watching Lana lean against the counter. She clapped her hands together and smiled so sweetly it drew one to Cullen's face. No doubt she was entertained by some kind of fried dough treat the baker was hoisting upon her. Turning to his dog, he sighed in the back of his throat, "Maker's breath, I don't know what I'm going to do. Honor, what would you get Lana for her birthday?"

Perking up at her name, the mabari struck a small pose, her tail pausing in its nearly continuous wag, and her nose pointing at something. For a brief moment, Cullen almost wondered if she didn't understand his request and have some idea, when Honor leapt tongue forward to slobber all over his face. He let her get a few more licks in before shoving her back and trying to wipe it all away with his sleeve.

"Yes, I get it, that works for dogs, but I'm afraid that won't give quite the right impression from me." Uncaring about his predicament, Honor woofed once, then waddled over to follow Lana.

In the end, Lana selected something fried, doughy, and covered in a pink crystalized sugar. She wasn't certain what it was, but the pastry easily outflanked her head and left a smattering of the pink crystals across her lips and down her chin. Cullen only tried a few bites before declaring it too sweet for him.

"Too sweet? How can anything be too sweet?" she mocked, turning from one of the three tables in the narrow shop to gesture at the baker. "Am I right?" He waved back, clearly agreeing with the woman who made his morning by trying some unholy concoction.

After taking another bite, and covering more of her mouth in glittering pink, she continued, "Is this another case of Cullen can't let himself enjoy anything?"

"No," he shook his head, "I have never had much of a sweet tooth. A little here and there is enough for me."

"Uh huh," she narrowed her eyes, her slitted vision drifting up and down him to see if he was lying. He knew she was playing, but Cullen couldn't shake off the guilt sitting in his gut at the moment. Somehow he had to not only find a way to walk the market alone, but also come up with the perfect gift for her.

The sound of a chair sliding closer drew his attention up from the table just as Lana leaned forward and her glistening pink lips curled around his. As their innocent kiss increased in heat, the sugar stuck to her lips melted, it's syrup dripping into their joined mouths. He couldn't stop himself from licking across her bottom lip, a curious almost peppery flavor to the sugar that should have been revolting but worked.

While Cullen bit on his lip, Lana smiled, "Too sweet for you?"

"No," he sighed, his fingers cupping her cheek, "never."

"What if I were to...?"

Cullen interrupted her before she could begin, "There are plenty of things you could do right here that would embarrass me beyond means, I'm certain of that."

Lana opened her mouth, then closed it a few times, "I was going to say let you have another bite, but not if you're going to be that way."

"I..." He tried to not crumble in on himself from the way she ripped off another section of the dough and crammed it in her mouth. "I didn't mean to imply..."

"Sweet Andraste," she swallowed and then laughed, "I know Cullen. It was a joke. Are you okay? You seemed less on edge this morning. Is it...? It's not Wednesday?"

"No, no, it's not Wednesday," he shook his head. It had to sound strange to others to overhear their code for when lyrium withdrawl overwhelmed him as the pair of them kept talking about whether it was Wednesday or not. Once a Sister walked up to them after they'd been in a heated discussion about the return of his symptoms to inform them that it was in fact a Friday and also six pm.

Lana waited for him to answer, her fingers poised over her doughy treat. "I..." he felt his fingers reaching for the back of his neck when a brilliant idea struck him. "I was hoping to find a present to send to Mia and the family for Satinalia but the market's a mess. It'd be too much for you."

"So that's what got you in a dour mood," her fingers traced along his lips, leaving the pink sugar in their wake.

"Commander Sullen at your service," he forced a smile, but Lana frowned at it.

Shaking it off, she leaned back, "Well, I'm warm, I'm quickly filling up, and I have a new friend over there..." She gestured to the baker who was singing a song under his breath as he punched down a wad of dough large enough to smother a bronto. "Seems a good time as any for you to head to the markets and find something."

"You..." Cullen glanced around the empty bakery, "you would be safe here alone?"

She was obviously trying to not roll her eyes at that. No sparks flared up on her fist but Cullen tasted the rise of the fade building off her body. "Yes, I think I will be." Having made her point, the metallic scent and flavor vanished. "Besides," her fingers drifted down to the dog curled up under the table, "I have Honor here to help me select the tastiest pastry." His mabari woofed once, her tail thumping against the chair's legs.

"Very well, I won't be more than an hour, at most. You're certain that's not too long?" Cullen paused in rising from the table. He knew he needed to get out there, but a part of him didn't want to leave Lana alone. Some of it was fear, she wasn't up to fighting form by any means no matter how much of the fade she could draw upon, and a lot of it was not wanting to miss the time with her. More than likely she was going to get up to Maker knew how much trouble with a mabari and a baker.

"Yes," she smiled. Then reached over to grab his sleeve as if she changed her mind. Cullen was prepared to give in to her demands and find some other answer to the birthday problem, when Lana yanked him down and planted a full kiss on his lips. Breaking away, she shooed him on, "Now go before it gets to rampage levels out there."

 

* * *

 

 

He need not ever fear the Void again because Cullen was certain he'd seen far worse in his time at the market. Unused to shopping, perhaps not as bad as a mage but templars weren't know for perusing bazaars in their spare time, he had the brilliant idea to wander the stalls and see if anything caught his fancy. This would have been a useful idea if it were a normal day instead of the rising chaos of the streets of Val Royeaux. At one point the city guards were called in to break up two older women, both easily in their 70s, who were trying to disembowel each other for some small rock with eyes painted upon it.

Jewelry, kitchenware, cloaks, hair accoutrements, a stand of nothing but towels for some reason, each one only raised more questions than answers for Cullen. Jewelry seemed the simple answer, the go to gift, but Maker's sake what did she wear? He knew of two things Lana ever donned, one was a pendant gifted to her when she joined the Wardens that she destroyed. The other was her ring that rarely left her finger and seemed to be more a safety touchstone than anything. While a ring, or pendant, or even hair barrette enchanted to gift the wearer greater strength or dexterity would be useful it may also remind her that she wasn't what she once was. Or worse, what if she thought it was his way of saying he wanted her to return to that life she strove so hard to leave? To pick up her staff and continue fighting, killing? There was also the fact that none of the options were enchanted beyond one that glittered by light in an eye searing fashion.

Books, he knew she loved to read but that was an instant quagmire in and of itself. He suspected it would be easier to name the places in thedas he hadn't visited than the books Lana had yet to read. There were a few on mage studies and rift magic in particular published recently, but would any of those have a bearing upon her studies? Not to mention, it was supposed to be a birthday present not a 'we may require you to help us heal the veil, please prepare yourself for it' gift. Cullen wasn't a hundred percent, but something told him gifts of those type should be of the romantic variety.

Flowers were not an option. There was a single, curious stand but all that prospered upon its cart were herbs of a certain nature. He never was involved much in the contraband side of templar life, but Cullen could spot a few of the more hallucinogenic plants that mages tried to slip into their potion brewing when none was the wiser. Sometimes they found their way into the templar barracks as well, because the barrier between mage and templar was nearly nonexistent no matter how much they tried to pretend otherwise. While Lana might be excited to try brewing her own potions, he had no idea where to start and if left to his own devices would probably bring home poison again.

Wouldn't that look good? _Happy birthday, have some poison. I suppose the message is 'I want this to be your last birthday.' Maker's breath_. Mia'd only been gone for three days and already he was failing in his promise to her. How much more could he screw this up?

Rugs, daggers, selections of rope...all useless for his cause. Cullen paused at a sampling of paintings, some of them rather lovely sweeping vistas of fields and forests by summer's glow. He put them into the maybe pile until his fingers flipped through the stack to come upon one called "Birth of a Hero." That painting he knew far too well. Done primarily in purples, reds, greys, and a specific brown, copies of it hung in parlors across all of southern thedas. It was Lana. No, it was Solona standing upon the gutted archdemon corpse while a small ferret loomed in the foreground. He never understood the point of the ferret, she never mentioned one in her travels of the blight. Blood was splattered across the painting, but it was stylized in purple hues to try and diminish the horrors that hanging an exanguinated archdemon corpse above the fireplace would cause upon the buyer. Never mind what it would have done to the woman who did it. Andraste, he hated this painting and suspected Lana did as well. Perhaps if they had the one Alistair mentioned, that he gave Cullen a small copy of...

A dark thought churned in his stomach as he remembered the letters the King had been blanketing Lana in. She said he was coming up with his own blighted theories for how the book he could easily pick up and read ended, but what if one of them was him wishing her a happy birthday? Crowing the fact that he remembered while Cullen failed to? _Why did this have to be so Maker damn hard?_

He wanted to slink back, to break away from the crowd of Orlesians and sulk alone in his misery. In some small part his brain, he knew Lana wouldn't hold it against him if he came up empty handed, but he couldn't stand himself if he let her down. Cullen was ready to abandon hope, perhaps fight for another one of the eye rocks and play it off as a jape, when something caught his eye. It was off from the beaten and crowded path, only a few people slipped past in a hurry to chase down the more flashy goods. As he stepped closer, his eyes lit up and he nearly smacked himself at the simplicity of it. How could he have never thought of this?

The shopkeep caught the glow in his eye and smiled wide. "Can I help you?" she asked, slipping back and forth on her weary feet.

"Maker's breath, I hope so," Cullen sighed. "I'd like that, and that," his fingers pointed at the offerings, the woman smiling wide as se reached for it. "But, could you have it delivered later?"

"Of course, Sir. Where and when?" she unearthed a tattered notebook and prepared to scribble something down.

"Later tonight, perhaps seven, and sent to the Grand Cathedral for Commander Cullen's eyes only." The shopkeep's widened at the mention of the Cathedral and his name, but Cullen couldn't shake off the grin infecting his face. This might work out after all.


	12. Surprise

 

When she was having a good day they dined with the rest of the chantry in the grand hall. Lana expected the clergy to be nothing but bent heads shoveling tasteless gruel into silent mouths, but the various Mothers and Sisters - most into their 60s and beyond - put raucous teenage mages to shame. On more than one occasion they had to dodge a cascade of rolls lobbed from one end of the room to the other. After waking from her nap, she expected them to head down but Cullen suggested they dine in instead. Lana was about to insist she was fine, the sleep shored her up well and she could handle a few over eager Sisters, but something in his demeanor caught her. While he could lose control of his limbs at times, Cullen was normally the very definition of stoic. He would often stand stock still for nearly hours, his eyes drifting past into the ether and those taut muscles keeping him locked in place. Probably remnants from being a templar and having to stand guard at the door or watching over one of the day long classes. But today he seemed on edge, dancing back and forth from one foot to the other as if the ground itself were on fire.

She wasn't certain what it meant, but Lana kept her arguments to herself curious to see where it was all going. After having finished eating the filling and rich dinner, Lana tried to push back her chair but felt the thud of a dog in the way.

"Are you waiting for your helpings?" she asked Honor who no doubt was also put off by them remaining in the apartment. With her pleading eyes and wiggling body, she often secured her weight in scraps from the clergy.

"She already scammed a bone off the butcher in the market, the pastries from the baker, and I don't want to know what you ate off the candlestick maker. On top of your usual dinner. You're good," Cullen ordered, his eyes darting down at Honor who whined a moment at her master's commands.

"It will not work on me," he insisted, folding his arms over his picked clean plate. Lana watched, waiting to see if Cullen's assessment would hold up and sure enough he seemed set on it this time.

Grunting, Honor slunk away from the table, her head hung low as if this was the greatest injustice ever heaped upon a mabari. As she was about to leap onto the divan, Cullen spun in his chair and sighed, "Do not get on the..." Not listening, Honor got all four of her feet up and sat down, daring him. "I give up."

Lana reached over and patted his hand, "It's best to choose your battles with them. I've found that's also the same with Wardens."

"And soldiers," Cullen groaned, his old life playing behind his eyes. After shaking off that sneer, he turned back to her and cupped both of her hands in his. "Did you, uh, have anything important planned for the rest of the...day?"

She twisted her head at his meandering question, but answered, "Not really. I have a few new reference ideas to compare with my old books and was thinking of trying to darn up my socks."

"'Darn your socks?'" he repeated with a scoff.

"I'm getting better at it. All right, so the yarn doesn't match and my needles are too thick but it's better than holes through the boots and... Why are you pulling that face?"

He blinked at her question, and the essence of panic contorted his cheeks. Digging into the nape of his neck with a ferocity, Cullen leaned back to stare up at the ceiling as if the answer was written there. "I probably should have said something earlier, but I didn't know if you'd...or there was..." The blush ramped up to a full flush over his features to match the increase in placeholder words, "Ah, I mean, surprises are...some like them but others are not as, but then when we were already, and you didn't say anything."

"What..." Lana tried to get his attention if only so he'd start making sense, "what are you talking about?"

"A moment, please," he skittered so fast out of his chair it tipped backwards, smacking into the floor. Cullen didn't even slow down to try and rescue the priceless relic as he vanished into the office leaving Lana alone and beyond confused. When he returned there was a canvas bag in his hands, a giant smile across his face, and a hundred questions expanding to a thousand.

Without bothering to lift up the chair, Cullen stood before her and stuck out the bag. She accepted it with the question on her face. Rather than look inside, Lana kept a watch on Cullen partially out of fear that something was very wrong and he could have a sudden relapse. Shrugging his shoulders, and then banging his empty hands together, Cullen shouted, "Happy Birthday!"

"Ha...what?" Lana blinked, shaking her head to try and find sense.

"I, with all our traveling and so much work taking up my attention, there wasn't much time to..." his nervous smile slid off at the perplexed look scrawled across Lana's face. Slowly, his hands stopped smacking into each other until they hung suspended in the pervading silence.

"It's not my birthday, not by a long shot," she spoke slowly, scared that her words might set something off. "I was born in the spring."

Cullen swallowed, his eyes blinking, when he smacked his forehead, "The spring? I blighted knew that too."

"Why did you think it was my birthday?" Lana laughed, not wanting to make him feel bad but Maker he looked so adorable stewing over the fact.

"Of all the..." Cullen stopped cursing under his breath before he sighed from the bottom of his lungs, "It doesn't matter. I was...I decided to make a fool out of myself, it seems."

Lana pursed her lips, her fingers digging into the canvas, "Let me guess, it was Leliana."

"Yes," he started, blinking rapidly from her driving right to the truth. "Is she not aware of when your birthday is?"

"No, she knows," Lana tossed her head back and groaned, "She's done this before. Not the birthday lie but other facts about me to try and, you know..."

"Test me," Cullen groaned. He glanced down at the toppled chair as if wishing to fall into it, but waved a hand and instead placed his weight onto his fists digging into the table. "And I failed spectacularly."

"I don't know about that," Lana shrugged, "I'm not certain if there is a way to win."

"Why would she do that? Who else has she done it to?" The first question was whined to the Maker and anyone else listening, but the second he glared through Lana, no doubt assuming he knew the answer.

"The why is because she's appointed herself my big sister and, in trying to look out for me, she uses a lot of the Game. Confuses the hell out of the Fereldens at times."

"You do not say," Cullen deadpanned, his head plummeting.

"And no, _the who_ isn't who you think. She didn't start playing that Game until long after we...after the blight. Basically, anyone I admitted to having an interest in Leliana would find some way to challenge and see if they were up to the task."

"Did any pass?" he asked.

"I don't know, I never lasted more than a few weeks with anyone else. It, uh, I'm not very good at getting into relationships it seems," Lana tried to play it off but it stung her still. What men didn't cower at the Hero of Ferelden deigning them with attention, the rest tried to one up her, proving that she didn't really deserve them. It was a constant headache and after the sixth or seventh year she decided she'd rather die alone anyway. Filling Vigil's Keep with cats didn't seem like it'd be too difficult.

Cullen's fingers traced along her cheek and she turned up to his smile, "I'd say those other men were idiots but I'm rather grateful for their stupidity."

"You, uh," Lana couldn't tamper down the blush rising against her cheeks. Swallowing to bide for time, she cupped her fingers around his. "I'm sorry for Leliana being, well, Leliana. I'll have a talk with her and explain that she can call off her dogs."

"Was that why you didn't want her to know about us?"

"That," Lana muttered under the breath, "and her digging up every relationship you ever had to grill the poor women."

"What?" Cullen started, his hand falling off her cheek in shock.

Lana shrugged, "There's a reason she was so successful as the Inquisition's spymaster. And, uh, if she maybe mentions the name of someone from your past just smile and nod as if you don't remember it. It's easiest that way."

"There aren't even any..." Cullen paused, his eyes darting through the past, "well, the one but it was from decades ago, surely..." He turned the question to Lana who gritted her teeth and nodded. "Maker's breath, I feel the fool for falling for it."

"Leliana's a bit of a handful at the best of times," Lana tried to cheer him up, "Pretty sure she knows every stupid thing I've done in my life."

"I was twisted up in knots, doing my damnedest to procure an acceptable gift for you and all the time it didn't matter," He paced back and forth before the table, knocking the chair further away with his boot. "And the way you remained silent on the fact I feared that-that either you were upset and hiding it or were expecting some grand surprise."

"Andraste, I'm sorry. It probably didn't help that I was doing a lot of browsing for browsing's sake either."

He paused in his ranting and glanced towards her, "No, and you have nothing to apologize for. I did it to myself, because..."

Lana staggered up to her feet so she could catch his hand. With the warmth of his skin pressed against hers she smiled, "Because you wanted to make me happy. Which is adorable and sweet." His agitated pacing stopped and rueful eyes turned to her. Tugging him closer, Lana leaned far across the bones of their meal to pluck a sweet kiss from him. Cullen fought her at first, but as she roughed her fingers across his stubble he gave in, his own hands wrapping around her shoulders.

"So..." Lana drug out the vowel as Cullen steadied himself up on his feet. "Can I open my gift or should I save it until spring?"

"Maker, no! Don't save it," he cried out before dampening down to a calm. Lana eyed up the bag now with greater wary. What did he get her? She didn't hear any mewls coming from inside but this was Val Royeaux, anything was possible. "Go ahead and open it. There's not much point in saving it," Cullen drifted back to a steady calm, his arms crossing and his head tipping down.

Shrugging, Lana broke open the knots along the top of the bag and carefully reached in to grab up a small glass bottle. "You got me...foam?" she asked lifting an eyebrow at him.

"There's more inside," Cullen said, pointing a finger at the bag.

Placing the jar of lumpy, white, potentially frosting on the table, Lana yanked the bag open wider and stuck her head inside. "Nope," her voice was muffled as she rifled around inside it, "there's nothing else in here."

"What? That cannot be," Cullen started, holding a hand out. With a shrug she passed him the bag so he could find the same. It was completely cleaned out save the glass jar with a tight lid keeping everything held in. Scooping it up, Lana walked around the table to join the man who kept running his fingers along the lining of the bag and then dumping it upside down as if that would make something appear. "I swear to the Maker, there was something else."

Lana slid beside him to lift the jar near his face, "Something to go along with this?"

"It was delivered, I saw it before and..." his eyes narrowed and he turned to the dog sleeping on the divan. Normally, Honor would lift her head from any attention but now she feigned sleep like a professional actor. "Did you get into this bag and eat it?" Cullen thundered to his mabari, who -- if she was a person -- would be whistling nonchalantly and banging her hands together.

"By the void, you are in so much trouble for..." he began to move away when Lana caught his arm. The touch was barely a glance but Cullen froze and his anger dissipated at the amusement bubbling in her eyes. "It was a pie, an apple pie. Seemed a strange time of year to have one available, but I thought you might like it."

"I imagine Honor really liked it," Lana struggled to swallow the laugh in her words.

At her name, Honor woofed once but that earned a fresh glare from her master. Sighing that she got no respect for taking on that dangerous pie all by herself, the mabari plopped her head down onto the couch cushions she also wasn't supposed to be on. Cullen dropped the bag to push his cheeks up towards his eyes.

"Maker, a pie eaten by my dog meant for a birthday that actually occurs months later. I am ordained by Andraste herself to fail at every step of this."

His self deprecation only made Lana want to hug him more but he had his hands locked tight against his face as if that would somehow cure him of all of this. "Well," Lana said inching even closer to him. Cullen pulled down his hands to look upon her. "At least we have this," she held up the jar and popped the lid off with a quick turn of her fingers. "What is it again?"

"Whipped cream, fresh whipped cream for the pie resting in Honor's guts."

Chuckling at his grumbling growing more good natured with each return, Lana dipped a finger into the jar and dropped a dollop of the cream onto her tongue. Fresh as morning's dew and richer than the tapestries of the Grand Cathedral, Lana's tongue lit up along with her eyes as she licked off her finger. "This is wonderful all on its own."

"Thank the Maker for small miracles," Cullen grumbled.

Unable to take his grumpy turn, Lana dipped her finger back into the jar and drew forth a greater glob of whipped cream. Less than carefully she extended it towards Cullen who took her finger in his mouth, his tongue lightly trailing across her joint before she pulled it out.

"Not bad," he smiled, smacking his lips, "it's been too long since I've had real, farm fresh cream and..." His eyes darted down to her chest right above her dress' neckline, where her over exuberant dollop of whipped cream lost a small section. Before she could move her fingers to swipe it away Cullen bent over and lapped it off.

When he stood away, he swallowed, about to remark more upon the cream when he noticed Lana's slack mouth. "Oh, was that...should I not have...?"

Inching her finger deeper into the jar, she dropped a better dollop onto her collar bone upon the birthmark and smiled wickedly, "Do it again."

A hungry look rose in Cullen's eye and he dove for her birthmark. Lana gripped tight to the jar of whipped cream as she wrapped her arms around his back to steady herself. Throwing her head back, she gave him all the access he needed. After licking up half of the cream, Cullen pressed a whisper soft kiss against her skin, then another. His hands cupped around her waist, pinning her in place as he kissed towards the last of the cream, dotting her skin in his lips along the way.

"Mmm, I may have been wrong before. It's better than I thought," Cullen whispered as he gently lifted his head away from hers so as not to hit her chin. When his hungry, almost impish eyes met hers, all those silly fears inside of her washed free. He began to slide back, as if the game was done, but Lana gripped onto his arm and held him close to her. Uncertain, but happy to keep going, Cullen remained near her as she slid next to the table to place the jar down.

Slowly, Lana undid the first few buttons on her dress. She glanced up at Cullen from the edge of her brow and watched his entire face light up in an eagerness she wished could be framed. Scooping up a few plops of cream, Lana dropped them right where her giving cleavage pressed at the top to create the soft t. A moan rattled in Cullen's throat, but he seemed locked in place, either uncertain if this was right or so excited he couldn't move.

Grabbing onto his hair with her cream coated fingers, Lana pulled him down for a kiss, her tongue already slipping in with his. Awakened from his stupor, Cullen matched with her, his hands gripping onto her shoulders and sliding ever further down until the fingers curled at the sides of her breasts. Maker, she wanted to grab both as before and place them upon her chest and between her thighs. Before she could make good on that idea, Cullen's lips broke away from her. He nearly dropped to a knee to come face to face with her ample cleavage. With the softest of touches, his lips graced across the top of her canyon. The cream already began to melt from her body heat, some of it sliding deeper in between, but that was no match to the man licking his way across her skin.

"Sweet Andraste," Lana gasped as his chin dug into her dress, dragging it lower to give him access. Instantly, she undid more of the buttons all the way down to reveal her puckered stomach and the start of her lime green smalls. Freed from its straining tackle, the dress hung against her breasts, uncovering the edge of her nipples on both sides. Cullen's kissing paused. He didn't rise from his lean, but he did look up at Lana waiting for her to give the go ahead.

She'd felt silly before, asking for him to touch this or that while keeping so much off limits. Now, she dipped into the cream, pushed off both sides of her dress and coated her hard nipples in it. The grin upon Cullen's face raced to her own, and she couldn't stop fluffing his hair as he kissed his way down her cleavage and towards the first temptation. When his lips sucked off the cream and pressed against her nipple, Lana threw her hands back against the table, rattling their dishes.

His eyes darted up a moment, making certain the table wasn't about to fall apart, before he returned to driving awake every inch of her body. When his teeth grazed across her nipple, she was pretty sure even her hair became aroused. Having finished with one, Cullen switched to the other, but his fingers kept threading over the licked clean nipple. The cool air in the apartment knocked against her wet skin, making more of her wet as she tried to claw against the woodgrain of the table. Not one to shirk his duty, Cullen took his time lapping up every freckle upon her breasts, those strong hands gently kneading them until Lana tipped her head back and groaned.

"May I?" he asked, pointing at the few remaining buttons.

Nodding while her mind buzzed in such a high pleasure stratosphere, he slowly undid each one, pausing to look up to see if she was still okay with it. She wanted to grab the last of the dress and yank it apart, but her legs began to tremble in an unexpected anticipation. It was silly, but she felt almost as if this was her first time with him, with anyone. As the last of the buttons fell away, Cullen rose and his lips fell into hers. While he caressed her cheek, his tongue wrapping around hers, Lana shook off her dress, exposing nearly all of herself to him. Every scar, every gaunt rib and ropy muscle. Her ashen and dull skin. She tried to bite down on the terror knotting at the back of her brain, but it was almost drowning out her panting arousal.

Rising away from kissing her, Cullen's eyes canvassed her body, all the divots, all the bumps and bruises. A satisfied smile rolled up his cheeks and with his lips pressed beside hers he whispered, "You are, Maker, beyond beautiful."

"I want you," Lana's mouth slipped the antagonizing thought free before the fear had time to catch up.

He blinked at that, his mouth working a few times before he could stutter out in a voice driven deep into his chest by lust, "Are you...you're certain?"

Was she? Her hands drifted down his stomach towards that bulge straining at attention, thick as she remembered, that waited for attention from behind only the thin fabric of his trousers. "Yes," Lana smiled, "all of you. So badly, I..."

"Should we move to the bedroom?" he pointed in the direction, but Lana hooked her arms around his shoulders and pulled him to her.

Shaking her head, afraid she'd lose her nerve if they moved, she breathed in his ear, "No, here. Now."

She expected him to refuse for the table's sake or out of a fear of some Mother or Sister overhearing, but Cullen smiled wider. Curling his hands under her ass, he heaved her up onto the table. The dishes rattled from her addition, and then slid back across the surface clanking together as she got her bearings. Wearing the same ecstatic grin, Cullen yanked his shirt off over his head. Lana had to bite down a yip in her throat as she watched his tempting pale skin flex while he undid his belt. Maker, should forearms and biceps flex so much when one tugged on a single strip of leather?

Who blighted cares?!

Even with his attention on trying to free himself of the trousers, Lana wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck and pulled him to her for a kiss. Cullen stumbled for a moment, his lips puckering at the side of her mouth but once he yanked down his trousers, he dove all in. His protective, callused palms rubbed up and down her shoulders, amping up the heat between both sets of her lips. When Lana bit down on his bottom lip, he in turn pinched both of her nipples. She couldn't tell which of them cried out in that pleasureful pain first, perhaps they both did at the same time.

Her fingers trailed down his side, trying to reach around to give a good grab of that taut ass that so often tempted her. Laughing at her attempts, Cullen rose up and leaned closer so she could dig in, the hard muscles tightening under her fingers driving awake every ounce of her libido. He pressed a kiss to her head, finding her fascination with his backside entertaining until she rolled her fingers around his hips, and gripped tight to his cock. She watched the groan roll up his throat, the adams apple darting high while Cullen's head tipped backwards. Lana took her time reminding herself how much she missed all of his body.

Gasping for air, Cullen placed his wandering hands upon her shoulders to steady himself as she rolled her fingers up and down his cock. Her movements steady as a heartbeat, she could see his own blood pounding away from his neck as Cullen stretched higher. He looked as if he yearned to thrust away, but kept himself locked in place, wanting to savor every second of this.

Slowly, Lana released her hold upon him, her fingers trailing down his thighs and her eyes glanced up to find his gorgeous honey ones opening up. Sweat glistened upon his forehead and down his chest as he parted his lips upon her head. Whispering into her hair, he asked, "You...you're certain?"

Snickering at that, Lana picked up his hand as she had before and guided his fingers towards her inner thigh. He swallowed deep as his palms caressed up and down, so achingly close to reach out and drive her home, but he kept darting them near the middle of her smalls before pulling away. Unable to handle it, Lana grabbed onto his head and whispered in his ear, "I'm so damn wet, you don't need to tease."

Ravenous fingers knotted around her hips and, in one fell swoop, yanked her smalls off; the green fabric flying off through the room. She barely had time to laugh at his fervor before his fingers circled around her lower lips and then dove first one, then a second deep inside.

"Sweet bloody Maker," she exclaimed, tossing her head back along with her elbows and knocking over a glass. Mercifully it was empty, not that it would have mattered. Even if blood red wine soaked into a thousand year old rug there was no way she was stopping now.

Rumbling with a delectable gravel in his voice, Cullen cooed, "You were right." She hadn't been this wet in a damn long time, as if every heated kiss, every touch of his skin, all the physical moments placed on the shelf for later roared awake inside her. When his thumb brushed across her clitoris, Lana leapt an inch off the table.

His fingers paused for a moment, concerned at her reaction, but she butted her forehead into his and breathed, "Don't you dare stop."

Grinning with pride and excitement, he nodded his head with hers attached and began anew, throbbing his thumb against her buttons while pulsing the fingers inside her across every inch he could reach. She felt her toes curling while they dangled off the floor, her tongue falling slack in her mouth as her vision sparkled. He had her panting so hard, egging her body close to the promised land before sliding back, she had to swallow or risk passing out.

Lana sat up and snagged his cheeks, pulling him to her for a kiss. Even as their lips mashed, groans and exclamations slipped unbidden from her busy mouth, each of them scrawled across his flesh as her body begged for the end. Reaching almost blindly, Lana grabbed onto his waist and tugged him closer. Cullen glanced up at her with a small question, but he kept up his dutiful finger ballet.

"I..." she swallowed, trying to pluck the words from her ecstatic brain, "I need you inside of me. Now."

His fingers froze and slid across her inner thigh. For a moment she groaned, almost trying to follow, but there was better on the horizon. Cupping her breasts in both hands, Cullen drew his hips achingly close to hers. As his tongue twirled with hers, she could feel his cock glancing upon the skin of her thighs. So near, so achingly close, all she had to do... Unable to stand it, Lana's fingers wrapped around him, circling up and down his girth. With a gentleness she was amazed to find in her state, she guided him to the entrance of her lips and let go.

Cullen paused in his kiss, the head of his eager cock pulsing right next to her as he ran his fingers down her cheek. It drew her attention right to those honey eyes, and with the two of them staring deep into the other, he thrusted himself inside.

"Holy Andraste!" she cried, her head snapping back as only the first inch of him bored out through her tight muscles.

He waited, panting above her while his eyes canvassed her body. Humming below her breath, Lana glanced up at him and a thread of mischief wove through her face. "More," she commanded, her lips twisted in an ornery smile.

With the titanium dedication of a templar, Cullen obliged, easing a bit more inside and stretching her out but holding still. Maker, it was a delightful torture, her brain begging for every inch while firing up all the nerve endings in her body. He shuddered, his eyes screwed tight to maintain concentration while slowly pushing deeper inside. When his cock glanced across that pleasure node knotted up in her core, Lana gasped. Her legs rose to wrap around his waist and, with her heels, she dug into the back of him.

By the power of her beleaguered legs, she guided him through the first thrust when Cullen's hands lashed out to grip onto her hips. Holding tight, he kneaded into her sparse flesh as he took over the thrusting, every push of his glorious cock back to driving Lana towards her cliff. She felt herself slipping and sliding in their exuberance, the plates rattling in anger as they abused the table.

With a single, sexy growl, Cullen batted at the plates -- scattering them in a porcelain cascade to the ground -- so he could lay her back. The cool wood of the table crawling up her back juxtaposed against the heat permeating the rest of her. Dragging her hips closer to him, Cullen's strong fingers plied her thighs, then traced across to her calves all while he maintained the perfect rhythm of his cock parting through her. Lana rolled her hips downward, struggling to meet him with everything inside of her. That perfect plateau, the moment when her body sat tingling in anticipation for the final push, enveloped her.

Sensing it, or reaching it himself, Cullen grabbed onto her ankles wrapped against his back and pulled her legs around to rest upon his shoulders. Digging in tight, he pressed his lips against her ankle, his moans mumbling into her skin as he drove harder and deeper, pushing both of them to an orgasm.

"Shiiiit!" Lana cried, her body arching upward as it wrapped itself in the never ending pleasure only it could invoke. Cullen didn't swear but his hands shuddered upon her legs, his breath ragged as he struggled to remain upright while cumming inside of her. Laying fully naked upon the table, a laugh began in Lana's throat and refused to leave.

Chortling, she snorted once, and then again, the laughing fit taking full hold. Even with tears of joy in her eyes, she glanced up to find Cullen still inside her, with a question on his blotchy red face. She had to bite down on her hand to will back enough of the rushing joy and pleasure in her system to get a word out. "Ma-a-a-aker," Lana stuttered, the laugh punctuating her words, "why...why was I ever scared of that?"

A proud smile turned up Cullen's lips. Letting her legs fall back to the floor, he reached forward to wrap his hands against her back and pull her up to a sitting position. Caressing her cheek, he smiled, "I take it that means you enjoyed yourself."

Trying to not roll her eyes, she stretched higher and draped her arms around his neck. Not able to reach his mouth, she pressed her lips against his glistening chest instead, "As if you have to ask."

Gently, Cullen dropped his hips, sliding out of her. He only glanced once over the great mess they made. At some point the whipped cream bottle smacked to the floor, not broken, but enough spilled out over the stone ground. And there was his own created mess spilling out of her. Caring not a whit for what they'd solve later, he bent over to wrap his arms around her and pulled her tight for a hug.

"Andraste's grace, but I love you," he sighed, accentuating his endearments by bundling his arms tighter with the last three words.

"I...I love you, can't imagine being without you," Lana sighed, a sense of safety rising in her body from his arms and a satiety filling her soul.

Rolling his palms across her cheeks, Cullen stared into her eyes. "Was it too much?"

"Nope," Lana smiled.

"Good," he grinned, that ravenous hunger returning instantly in his eyes. "Because I have more planned." Scooping his hands under her butt, he pulled her tight into his arms. Lana yelped once in surprise, but knotted her own hands behind his neck as she rose into the air.

"What about the mess?" Lana asked, her voice laughing.

Cullen paused only a moment at the spilled plates and spoons, uneaten food drenching the chairs and floor. "Honor will get it," he pronounced before knocking open the door to the bedroom and carrying her inside.

 

* * *

 

 

"Are you asleep?"

She could make some smart ass response, but Lana felt as if her entire body had been scrubbed clean, her mind floating on a pink pile of fairy fluff. Pressing her mouth against his naked chest, she tried to not drool while answering, "No."

Cullen sighed, his arm locked tight around her back as he held her against him. "Maker, how are you not exhausted?" the strain echoed in his voice as he fought to stay awake and hold her.

Chuckling, Lana smooshed her nose into his dewy skin, getting a deeper whiff of his earthy musk. How could he smell so good after all of that? Tempted to kiss him but unable to make the journey, she settled on running her fingers over the curve of his muscles instead. "I never claimed to not be exhausted, merely not asleep."

"Fair enough," Cullen smiled, his head tipping back to rest against the wall. Their pillows went...somewhere. She lost track of nearly everything by the third position change. "Are you cold?" he asked out of the blue, noticing for the first time that all the blankets were missing.

Lana shrugged, digging her shoulder into the mattress, "A little, so I think I'll pull more warmth from you." Sliding with that last of her muscle power, she draped half of her body across his. Cullen held her even tighter, trying to transfer his natural warm state through her always chilled one. After a time, his hands broke off and they began to caress up and down her back in small circles.

"That, uh," he paused for so long Lana tried to turn her head up to look at him, "that wasn't too much for you? I don't want, hope you don't regret..."

"Not a moment," Lana smiled, her weary hands lifting up to pat his lips silent. "I'll probably be sore tomorrow, but that goes with the territory."

"Oh?" he frowned, a cloud crossing his temples, no doubt blaming himself for some failure.

She patted him on the cheek, and sighed, "You can be a bit much to handle at times, particularly if it's been awhile, and that was a long while."

"Ah, I..." a blush rose under her fingers as if it surprised him that she'd know anything of his naked body. "I had no idea in, uh..." coughing, Cullen shook his head to try and will away the burn of embarrassment. "I'm sorry?" he was apologetic but she could hear the ego driven smirk in there.

"It's not the worst problem to have," she smiled and began to inch herself up to his face. Cullen assisted, his hands cupping under her arms. With far more grace than she could manage, he hoisted her up until they lay eye to eye. "And if we have a go at it a few more times I'm certain to limber up better."

His sweet smile bloomed before Cullen scooped her up and pulled her in for a kiss. Even after all of that, in the back of her mind Lana felt the urge to rise up and straddle him, but that was so far beyond her capabilities. Settling for the innocent kiss instead, she curled down upon him, her head laying on his shoulder while Cullen placed another kiss in her hair. "I never want to hurt you," he whispered.

She knew he meant it, both physically and emotionally, but there were some hurts worth having. "It's not so bad, on the right side of pain I suppose."

"The _right side of pain_?" he chuckled uncertainly.

"That, uh," her own blush rose up threatening to consume her, "may be something to explain another time when my brain's not fluff. Very satiated fluff."

Blinking slowly, his golden eyes took on a dusky hue in the bedroom -- as if being in a momentary state of bliss drained him of that fearsome amber color along with his worries and anger. He never looked more like the young man she remembered from the Circle tower than right after sex. "I don't know why I was so scared of this," she sighed wishing she could go back those few months and shake herself smart.

"Trauma can do things to people..." he snuggled her tight to his chest as if she was a comforting blanket. Lana tried to hug back, her hands pinned against his sides. She sensed what he was thinking, his own past pains did untold damage to him. Perhaps even the kind of damage that was even harder for men to admit to. "I understand why," he whispered instead, "and was happy to wait until you were ready."

"Maker, makes me sound like I'm a virgin all over again," Lana scoffed before folding into his embrace. With only a whisper, she mouthed against him, "Thank you."

"I have often thought of you, your touch, your skin, your tempting curves, how it feels to slide inside you," Cullen said, his voice stripped as bare as the rest of him. There was no regret in his words, no apology, only the simple facts.

"Me too," Lana admitted, "in the fade in particular, I'd replay our handful of moments. All twelve times. I guess this makes it number thirteen."

"Twelve?" He sat up higher trying to pry her up to look at him. "You know how many times we've had...been intimate?"

It shouldn't be so damn adorable, but the way he avoided saying sex made her fall for him all over again. Nodding her head against his chest she smiled, "Yep. I, I like to keep count to sort of remind myself it's real. Not just a one time thing. I used to count kisses as well but once they reached past thirty I stopped that."

Cullen fell silent, his hands stopping their caress while his fingers knocked against her back. Concerned that he found her cataloging their intimate time strange or creepy, Lana craned her neck to stare at him. But he didn't look bothered, instead his eyes were far away gazing into the distance or perhaps the past. "I can't think of all twelve," he confided.

"Let's see... Twice in the deeproads, once at Halamshiral." That got a chuckle from him as he held her tight. "I don't know if the storm one counts considering how it all ended, so I give it a half and round up."

"The, uh, training yard after, when you 'evened the odds' should be the other half."

Lana smiled, "Exactly. Uh, five times in your loft."

"And twice in your bed at Skyhold while Hawke was out," Cullen finished, nodding his head. "That's eleven."

"You're forgetting right before Adamant, in your tent when we..." her words faded as she struggled through tears percolating behind her eyes. They hadn't intended it by any means. Not on the eve of battle with so much at stake. But somehow both of them wound up together alone after the last meeting was called. The fortress lay stretched not even a days walk away, they knew the end was in sight. She wondered often in the fade if some part of her didn't suspect that that would be their last time. That was what pushed her to wrap around him and Cullen, perhaps fearing the same, answered in kind.

"I..." he shuddered in a breath, "I'd try to forget that one, it's true. For a time I thought that perhaps I did something, or said something that--" Cullen shook his head, banging the back of it against the wall, "It doesn't matter, because it wasn't our last time."

"Nope," Lana smiled, wrapping herself tighter to him, "not by a long shot." He returned the hug, his chin bumping into the top of her head. After a moment, Lana lifted her face off his chest to catch his eyes. He smiled half heartedly, uncertain what placed such seriousness across her face. "Cullen, I-I want you to know how proud I am."

"Proud?" he guffawed, glancing around as if this was all some prank.

"Everything you've been through, I know there are little thanks for it. People clap you on the back when you save the world, but making it through the day to day, deciding small matters that are guaranteed to piss someone off because no one else will. And having to do it all while you were secretly mourning, it's...I'm sorry that burden fell to you. That I put it upon you."

Sucking in a breath, he looked about to shake all her praise away but he paused. Perhaps something in her earnest tone caught him, or how she stared with certainty at him. Either way, it got through. "Thank you," he whispered, pulling her closer to him. "And thank you for staying alive. From everything inside of me, thank you. I...I know what it is to cling to life when there's no hope left. How endless the darkness seems."

"I had hope," she smiled, chewing on her lip to keep the tears at bay. Her palm caressed his cheek, buffing up his stubble. "I had you."

Cullen turned to plant a kiss upon her palm, "You always will."

Happy beyond measure, Lana curled up on his chest, ready to let sleep claim her. It was the calmest she'd felt facing the fade since leaving it. On the edge of hearing, she heard Cullen whisper, "I should thank Leliana for telling me about your birthday."

Chuckling at the image of Leliana's face hearing that, Lana drifted off safe and content, all of her at peace for the first time in two years.


	13. Shadows

_At least she waited for someone to say come in_ , Cullen thought as he watched Leliana enter the apartment. She was still dressed in her Divine robes, with a tweed traveling cloak knotted across her shoulders. He sat perched at the breakfast nook, his work spread out around him. As nonchalantly as possible, Cullen placed a boot down to try and cover the stain neither he nor Lana could get up by alchemy or magic. Even Detan seemed perplexed by it after using some special cleaning agent that was supposed to work on demon blood. In the end, she suggested they slide a stack of books in the way and pretend it never happened.

"Afternoon," he smiled at the Divine. "How was your trip to Jader?"

"Boring, and a waste of a week," Leliana sighed. He hadn't seen her since the birthday incident, the Divine suddenly needing to head to northern Orlais for a vitally important meeting. Cullen floated the idea she was doing it to avoid him, but Lana shook her head at that. Leliana wasn't the type to avoid the shit she started.

"Lana's resting at the moment, but you can take a seat and wait for her to wake," Cullen offered up the other chair. For a moment, the Divine's crystal eyes wandered over him, no doubt trying to see if he was planning some retribution for her lie, but she had no other recourse and tumbled down to the chair.

After unknotting her cloak off and rubbing her throat where the clasp pulled, Leliana said, "You say she's both resting and sleeping..."

"Originally, she planned to lay down on the bed and do some reading, but when I went to unearth a book left in the room I found her face down in the pillows."

"Interesting," the Divine eyed him up. "Long day?"

"We visited the catacombs under the city," Cullen explained.

"For the Maker's sake, why?"

Smiling at Leliana's look of disgust, Cullen tipped his chair back, "Lana found mention of an old symbol in one of her books being located amongst the piles of bones below the city and she wanted to see it for herself to cross reference with another symbol designed during the...at that point I stopped paying attention."

Leliana laughed at that, her bell like chuckle ringing in her nose. "I've found that's the best approach when she starts hopping back and forth on her feet in ecstatic glee over a moldy old parchment that's barely legible."

Bobbing his head, he was glad the Divine didn't expect him to share in all of Lana's hobbies and interests because he'd have to learn a lot more of magic and its history a lot quicker. "She did stumble across an old mage circle drawn, Maker, it had to be ages and ages past."

"Was it still active?" Leliana sat up at that, but Cullen waved his hand.

"No, the magic itself was long disrupted. I made certain of that," he added getting a nod of approval from the Divine, "but she was bubbling over in glee at the language used for the runes. Apparently, you can something something very important something else. Either she's completely altered everything ever known about the history of ward crafting or is about to."

Leliana reached over and patted his hand, "Lana always seemed to be at her most focused when she had a cause driving her. Without one her attentions become erratic and divided. If I were you I'd find one cause to hone her and quickly lest she wind up digesting the entire library of Minrathous."

He nodded his head, his hands parting over the remainder of his work. While Cullen could easily whittle away a few hours of each day upon it and know more remained, a small part of his brain questioned what he would do once he was finally finished with the Inquisition. What would he be like with no cause to steer him? As if sensing his thoughts, Leliana gestured at the works, "You'll be leaving soon?"

"Yes," he nodded. Plans were in place, passage booked, and he had the itinerary down to the wire. Three days travel with barely any rest, five days working to finalize and free himself of the remaining knots of his involvement with the Inquisition, and another three to return. He wished he could get it down to a week of being away from Lana, but when word rattled through the mountain about his leaving everyone suddenly had something the Commander needed to do. Lana snickered at that, and said they were most likely all planning goodbye parties, but he doubted that all of Skyhold could intend to get that drunk for so long. Even after Corypheus fell, the Inquisition only partied for three days. He was hardly worthy of that much celebration.

Shuffling his stacks of vellum up, Cullen smiled, "I hope to get in and out quickly."

"How's she doing?" Leliana asked, tipping her head towards the closed bedroom door.

"Good," he paused, "she's been strolling through Val Royeaux each morning. On occasion even takes Honor on quick walks here and there. And..." Cullen's smile turned internal as he thought back to their passionate moments with Lana in both the throes of bliss and giggling at herself for ever doubting it. A knocking drew Cullen out of his reverie and he found the Divine staring through him. Coughing once, he nodded his head and added a deeper, "Good, very good."

"Yet you're worried about leaving her."

"I..." he flexed his weary fingers over the table and watched the tan line across his knuckles fading back to his normal pale color. They came from gripping tight to the pirate ship's ropes as he teetered between no hope and praying fervently for her. Now his heart was settled and his tan could fade. "I am. She's come so far, but if anything happens."

"I'll be here," Leliana said, nodding her head. "We can have an over extended slumber party. Drink wine, talk about men, paint some of the statues in garish colors."

Cullen snorted at the idea, then narrowed his eyes, "I'm growing more concerned about leaving now."

Smiling at him with the force of the chantry behind it, Leliana patted his hand once, "There, there, she's rather tight lipped about your bedroom antics. I doubt there'd be a play by play of whatever happened last night."

"Last night? How can you..." Cullen mashed his lips together, cutting off the question that gave away everything. He couldn't stop the small burn wrapping up the back of his neck.

For her part, Leliana only chuckled as if the answer was so obvious as to be scrawled across his forehead. Rather than tip her oversized hat, she sat up in the chair even more prim than before and began to fluff up her sleeves. As a child, he'd wondered at times if the Mothers in the chantry ever kept anything stashed up inside them. While he doubted the one at his local chantry did, Leliana's digging revealed a leather sheathe hidden against her wrist. Take the woman out of the Game, but you can never take the bard out of the woman, it seemed. Sensing his curious eyes upon her, the Divine lowered her sleeve and cut through him with a single look.

"Your, uh," Cullen's brain flipped through any topic it could cling to, "the trip to Jader wasn't as productive as you hoped?"

Leliana glanced over at the bedroom door, no doubt willing Lana to rise awake as much as he was to save him, but it remained obstinately shut tight - their only salvation fast asleep. Folding her hands on the table, Leliana tipped her head, "I'd been counting on some intelligence that was intercepted."

"Intelligence?" While Cullen was technically extricating himself of all the politics -- from mages, to the chantry, to elves, and the rest of thedas -- he couldn't avoid the whispers on the wind. What they said he never heard, but their very existence unnerved him. While grumbling and malcontents could never be fully wiped away, it was the slow drip over time that concerned him. Sometimes it meant nothing, and other times it led to a flood shattering through the floor.

"It is...not of too great a matter," Leliana tried to wave it away, but Cullen scooted forward.

"Does this involve the Inquisition?" he asked, jabbing a finger into the table.

"What does that matter to you?"

"Last I checked, I still live in thedas and a threat to the Inquisition, even if it's been defanged, will still effect me," he pointed out. "Not to mention I would not wish any ill on the people who I served with."

Leliana frowned and dropped her head down as she glared at her fingers. Slowly, each one drummed up and down the clean section of table while the Divine selected her words. "There are rumblings, of a sort..."

"Mage or elf?" he asked, aware enough to know what current problems plagued the chantry.

Her crystal blue eyes snapped up and Cullen instinctively swallowed from her ice cold stare. Still thrumming the slow cadence of a dying heartbeat, Leliana watched through him, as if she was staring into the hearts and minds of every person in thedas. "I am uncertain."

"The...what would one have to do with the other?" Cullen started, shaking his head to find reason.

Leliana shrugged, "The enemy of my enemy I fear. People are still recovering, from the rebellions, the civil war, and the damage the red templars caused. While it takes time there are many who are too impatient and are looking to blame anyone they can."

"Whispers of chantries being set on fire..."

"Have some validity," she said, her words thudding to the ground with an unquenchable silence. "I'm trying to determine why and who's behind it. But while I search for the truth, others are quick to fill in their own answers. Some claim credit when there is no proof they'd even have been near it, much less that they'd have the clout."

"I should..." he scooted back in the chair, when Leliana shook her head.

"You should maintain what you've already claimed. Extract yourself from the Inquisition, changing course now would only give more fuel to a complicated fire." She challenged him to argue with her, but Cullen barely knew anything beyond the bare facts. While he'd left service of the chantry, in his heart he suspected he never could fully abandon it. Lana made no complaints about him attending services, sometimes inquiring about them. And while he still smarted from Kirkwall, from the bureaucracy that tied everyone up, abandoned the templars to the mad Seeker and Corypheus, he did not want to see it fall.

Leliana seemed to read all that in him, her head tipped down for a moment and she whispered, "Far too alike."

"What?" He sat up, all business.

"We can endure without you, it has for centuries in fact."

Cullen folded his arms up and glowered, "I'm aware of that, but if...if there's danger to Ferelden, or southern thedas, I think I'm owed a little classified information."

That caught her and she leaned back in the chair. Frown lines crinkled up her smooth brow and down her cheeks, age or stress finally catching up to Leliana. "You are right, and you know the other threat on the horizon better than most. What will come of it, no one can say." Cullen still wasn't certain if he believed Solas was Fen'harel or the idea that one man could destroy the veil, but he put faith in the Inquisitor doing all he could to prevent it.

Scooting closer, Leliana stretched her neck and then whispered, "This is in strictest of confidence, but there are rumblings across Orlais and western parts of Ferelden that the mages are..."

A blood curdling scream ripped apart the air. Cullen stood so fast, his chair tumbled back, Leliana attempting much the same. "That came from the bedroom!" he cried, pointing towards the shut door. Horrors tried to dig behind his eyes, Lana's screams twisting his nightmares into something almost unbearable, but he gritted through them.

"Maker, is that smoke?!" Leliana cried out, her cold mask shattered as she pointed to a gap under the door where white puffs billowed out.

As Cullen neared the door, he caught the acrid scent of wood charing to the flames of an open fire. "Lana!" he cried, panic strangling his tongue. Not bothering to check the latch, he shoved open the door with his shoulder. Smoke bit into his eyes, but he blinked through the pain to spot a figure huddled in the corner, fire flying from her fingertips with an unstoppable ferocity at the vanity. Immeasurable heat charred and warped the mirror, silver dripping like rain down the glass curving in on itself. Deadly flames danced off the vanity's counter, licking towards the walls and risking the entire Cathedral if they weren't contained.

Leliana shouldered him aside, and shouted, "Lanny!" But Lana didn't turn to her, didn't acknowledge her, only kept up her fire. "Stop! What are you doing?!"

"Can't," Lana mumbled, tears gushing from her eyes, the black smoke obscuring her trembling body. "Not, no, you're an illusion."

"Lanny," Leliana begged, dropping to a knee and trying to scoot closer to her. She whipped her head towards the Divine, a horrified look on her face, and Leliana stumbled back terrified of what could happen. Something got though and the fire spurting from Lana's hands broke off, her arms dropping to the floor as if spent. But the fire was fully enraged now, rising up the bedroom wall and eating everything in its wake. Cullen grabbed a blanket off the bed and tried to smother the fire, but it roared awake, snapping back at him.

"You have to put out the fire, Lanny," Leliana begged, crawling forward.

"Leave me be, spirit," Lana groaned, her head dropping into her chest as she hugged her knees tight. She looked pitiful, like a scared child trembling from the monster under the bed. Yet, she didn't fight against the smoke billowing into the air, cutting away the oxygen and burning into their eyes. It was as if she didn't feel it.

Tossing the blanket down, Cullen slid across his knees and scooped Lana up into his arms. It was almost the exact same way he had when she came back to them from the fade. "Lana," he pleaded, his hands digging into her hair. She didn't look up or acknowledge him, only shook her head and mashed her face harder into her knees.

"No, no," she moaned, scrunching up tighter in on herself.

"Please, put the fire out, before you hurt people. Innocent people. You don't want to do that," he clung to the first thing he could think of, but she was too far into her delusion. She gripped tighter to her legs, her nails causing welts to rise up on her skin. "Lana, please," he begged, "I-I love you."

She didn't look up, but power flowed through her body, the fade warping fast around her. For a moment, Cullen instinctively moved to yank her mana away, terrified of what she'd conjure next, but he held it back. He had to trust her. Leliana tried to wave the blanket to beat back the fire, but it was beyond either of them now, flames licking up the leftover vanity and scouring the stones black. White crystals wrapped around Lana's fists still dug into her legs. Without waving her hands near the fire, power -- biting with the power of winter -- blasted past Cullen to wrap around the flames. He craned his neck back to watch ice rise from the ground to envelop the fire in its smothering embrace, freezing it solid until it reached the ceiling.

It happened so fast the blanket Leliana was waving froze tight to the ice block. She released her hold, unable to rip it free, and staggered back. Her eyes widened while surveying the charred remains of the vanity crumpled in on itself, white as ash, and the dents the fire made into the walls and ceiling. "Andraste preserve me," she mumbled, her hand covering her mouth.

A sob wracked Lana and Cullen turned back to her, his hands wrapped around her shoulders. "It's okay, I'm here. We're both here, it's...you did the right thing, Lana. Okay?"

Leliana plummeted to her knees as well and scooted towards her friend. Together, she and Cullen formed an impenetrable wall, trying to wrap Lana against everything she just created. "Oh, Lanny," she sighed holding tight to her.

The trembling paused in Lana's shoulders but she wouldn't lift her face. Moaning into her knees, she cried out, "I...I, no, I didn't mean to, didn't want to... Not the fade, not at all, not now."

"I know you didn't mean to, Lanny," Leliana cried back, the tears thick in her eyes.

"I never, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Lana moaned. For a moment her eyes darted up over the carnage she preserved behind ice, the destruction she caused. Yelping at it, she waved her fingers and buried her head again. With a whisper, the ice wall melted apart, sending gallons of water washing across the fire damaged floor. The smell of charring smoke and rotten wood filled the room as the puddle washed across their feet. Only her heart wracking sobbing echoed over the hissing of still steaming wood coming to a rest.

"It's okay," Cullen cooed again, trying to pull her into him, to get her to break away from her knees. "You're not alone. I'm here, Leliana's here. We've got you."

"I..." Lana stuttered, her face whipping back and forth across her legs.

Cullen glanced down and winced at blood rising up from where her nails dug deep into her skin. "Lana, please," he couldn't bite down on the tears in his voice, "please stop hurting yourself."

He wanted her to stop digging her flesh off, but her body trembled and in a heart wracking sob she cried, "I don't know if I can."

"Lanny..." Leliana wiped at her tears when the sound of armored boots running down the hall drew both her and Cullen's attention towards the apartment door.

It sprung open from a shoulder all but shoving it off the hinges and a man cried out, "Your Most Holy!"

Leliana staggered to her knees to look over at what appeared to be three or four guards judging by the boots racing towards her. She wiped at her cheeks and fitted on the calm mask she always wore. While Leliana dealt with them Cullen held tight to Lana, his face burying into her back. She'd silenced her crying, but he could feel the inaudible sobs trembling up her body.

"What is it?" Leliana asked, trying to block their view of Lana crumbling apart on the floor beside the bed.

"We heard a scream and came running to...are you all right, your Worship?" the lead guard asked, his eyes sliding across his unperturbed Divine.

"I am fine, as you can see. There was a small matter..." Leliana glanced back only for a moment before whipping her head back, "We spotted a mouse."

"And then set it on fire?" the second guard asked pointing at the obvious damage that nearly ate through the wall.

"It got rid of the mouse," the Divine said with such confidence Cullen almost believed her.

"As you say, your most Holy," the lead guard said, bowing uncertainly. "But, I would not recommend dealing with vermin in such a manner."

"Yes, next time I will try a trap instead. Those cause less collateral damage," Leliana nodded brusquely, her arms crossed as she turned her body into a barrier. No matter how hard the guards tried to peer in on Lana, she wasn't letting them past.

"Do you require any more help?" the guard asked, lost as to what to do with a clearly crying woman on the floor, the room having just been lit on fire, water soaking across the ground, and the Divine insisting it was all due to a mouse.

"No, you may return to your post," Leliana said, waving a hand to dismiss them. "Oh, but could one of you summon Detan."

"Yes, Your Worship," the guards bowed, sliding away.

Cullen heaved a sigh of relief at their departure. The last thing Lana needed was questions coming from anyone much less an arm of the chantry. With his arms pinned tight around her, she finally broke free from digging into her legs and wrapped them back around him. Biting down the pain in his heart, Cullen nestled his chin in her hair and repeated a continual loop of "I have you. I'm here." Breaking a moment from Lana's hair he caught Leliana's concerned eye and mouthed, 'I'm not leaving her. I'm never leaving her.'


	14. Light

Light undulated across a carpet. She didn't see all of the hand woven image, only a corner with a horse cavorting through a forest that kept dipping from a bright golden glow to the deepest greens as the branches outside the window danced in the breeze. What did the horse think of the light? Was it welcomed, or did it burn with a searing white, the heat of the heart of fire itself fading away its once luxurious colors? Cullen's hand wrapped around hers, his fingers holding her tight while she couldn't manage to return it.

Digging a towel through her hair, Leliana shooed a handmaiden away and sighed, "Maker, it feels so much better to have that caustic smoke scent off me." She was dressed only in a robe, barely knotted across her waist which caused Cullen to glance towards the window. Lana expected to find a blush rising up his neck but his cheeks remained wan the whole day.

She didn't remember the trip up to Leliana's proper apartments, her eyes screwed tight for fear that if she opened them she'd either find the green sky of the fade with the Black City taunting her or the entire Grand Cathedral up in flames. While Leliana and Cullen fretted about finding a comfortable place for Lana to sit, she stumbled one step, then another before plummeting to the ground. And that was where she sat for the past few hours watching the sunlight move across the carpet. Cullen tried to get her to move, but when she refused he stopped asking. Leliana made more suggestions, offering up a couch, a chair, even a bed or two. The last caused Lana to fold further in on herself.

People hustled in and out while only speaking to Leliana, a few glanced towards the broken woman on the floor but none talked to her. After a time Leliana suggested a bath to clear off the soot, but Lana didn't look up. Exasperated at Lana's continual non-answers, Leliana took it herself. Now clean of the fire, the fire Lana caused, her friend was back to trying to fix things.

Drying her hair with a fervor, Leliana sighed and attempted to whisper at Cullen, "She should take a bath."

He shrugged and leaned towards Lana, "Do you want to try a bath?"

Lana shook her head wildly, tears scattering from the force. She didn't deserve it.

Shrugging his shoulders, Cullen leaned back, only his fingers clinging tight to her limp ones. With her free hand she patted at the floor, trying to disturb the dust motes hiding below the chair legs.

Leliana tossed her towel at a statue and growled, "This isn't helping. Lanny..." She plopped down to a knee in front of Lana's bent head and tried to look her in the eye, but Lana kept staring further away. "You need to talk about it." She shook her head negative again and pulled her knees tight. Leliana's eyes traveled down Lana's shins and she hissed at the damage everyone kept talking about. But Lana didn't feel it, her body numb to everything.

"Lanny, please," Leliana dropped a hand onto her shoulder and Lana sagged further down, "It'll do you good. Tell me what happened."

Her lips quivered, the trembling beginning again as Lana pulled her legs tighter to her chest. "No," she whispered, barely able to speak the word through her shaking.

"No isn't..." Leliana began but Cullen reached out and nudged her off. She turned her icy stare upon him but he glared back with as much fervor.

All the venom vanished as he spoke to the broken woman, "Lana, what do you want to do?"

She shrugged, clinging tighter to her legs.

"Do you want to take a bath?"

She shook her head.

"Do you want to change out of the..." Cullen's words faded as he gestured to the ratty old tunic she wore to sleep. It stank of smoke that burned her eyes and needed to be cleaned.

Lana shook her head again, curling deeper. She expected him to sigh or begin challenging her resolve as Leliana had, tell her to grow a spine and stop behaving like a spoiled child.

Instead, he slid a bit closer to her and asked, "Do you want me to hold you?"

Her brain fought to tell him no, she didn't need it, she didn't deserve it, but her heart won out. In a gasp Lana cried out, "Yes," while falling into his open arms. Cullen took all of her without a complaint. His own shirt stank from the fire, the fire she caused because she was too weak. Burying her nose deeper into it, Lana filled her lungs with the pungent smell, every breath burning her the way she deserved.

Clinging to his arm, Lana slid lower into his lap, the back of her head burrowing into his stomach as she rested her cheek upon his thigh. Cullen didn't complain, only softly picked at her hair as he held her tight. "Do you want to talk?" he asked.

A sob echoed up her dry throat and she clung tighter to him, fingers digging into his knee the same way they had to her own. "Shh," Cullen soothed, "it's okay, you don't have to talk. When you're ready. For now, we can sit here, okay?"

Lana didn't answer him, but Leliana did, hissing close to his ear as if she wouldn't overhear. "What are you doing?"

"Helping," he stated with certainty.

"You know how to help with this?" she scoffed, folding her arms and wanting to delve to the heart of the problem.

"A templar trained in dealing with a mage whose powers ran rampant. Yes, I think I know how," he sneered at her before tugging Lana tighter to him.

Leliana stood up to glower at him but Cullen didn't respond. He gently caressed Lana's head and stared out at the wall. She did the same, her watering eyes watching a painting. It was old, before a more realistic style swept through the artists. Humans were little more than rectangles with circles for heads while the elves had sharp triangles. It was strange to find a painting with both human and elves on the same level. Lines and lines of people depicted going about their life in painted stratum while strange creatures haunted through the margins.

She didn't remember the dream to start it all. Lana wished she did because then she could say _it was this, seeing this, thinking this brought it all out and as long as I avoid that then it'll never happen again._ But no, whatever happened to her in the dream vanished on the wind. When her waking mind returned to her it brought the suffocating press of anxiety, a depth of panic she hadn't felt in...Maker, she couldn't even remember. In battle, she could focus on a plan, on strategy, but there in the bed with her legs trapped by a blanket it was nothing but unquenchable hopelessness. Crushing, bleak, empty darkness. Instant loss with no way out. And her magic took over her body. If Cullen hadn't been there, if he hadn't talked her down...

"I'm sorry," Lana moaned. She felt Cullen jerk below her, as if her words startled him awake. He craned his head around and caught Leliana who rose from a chair to stand behind.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Leliana said, her voice soft.

"It was an accident," Cullen said, his fingers running down her arm.

"And you did that old vanity a favor by torching it. Saves on me having to have it destroyed and then face up to the preservation society," Leliana tried to laugh but Lana sobbed, curling deeper into Cullen's leg.

"I thought, I tried, I wanted to be better, to not be...why am I so broken?" she cried, tears streaking down her cheeks to wash away the soot on Cullen's pants.

"Lana," he tried to tug her up, but she clung tight to him unable to face the two most important people in her life.

"You're not broken," Leliana insisted, her hand squeezing down Lana's shoulder.

"I...I nearly, Maker. I could have killed you, or you," she gasped, glancing up at both of them before burying her head back into Cullen's leg like a sulking child. But that's what she was, a child who had no control over her magic. And while at age six the most she could do was flash freeze a pail, now she could enact a horrible vengeance upon an army without batting an eye. She was a monster, a monster without any restraint.

"We, we're okay," Leliana said, but Lana could hear the stumble in her words, a swallowed down gasp from the facts. Mashing her mouth tight together, Lana dove deeper into the dark abyss of shadows wishing it would swallow her up and end this. No more keeping a check upon her magic, no more fighting every day to get out of bed, just the sweet silence of nothing.

Shaking his head at the Divine, Cullen leaned closer to Lana and said, "What is it? Love, I know there's more."

She bit her lip at his pet name. He'd never said it before, and in any other instance she'd have found it trite, but right then it was all Lana had left to cling to. "I...I'm, it's happened before but never like that, never. The dreams, they're in there, the nightmares. You know," she said to Cullen who grimaced and nodded softly, "nothing can make them go away, and I never know why. But I could handle it, keep the-the power at bay. Drain myself or, or contain it to a few wards, damping down a fire, or-or..." Tears gargled in her throat, the salt water stinging her still raw eyes, "I'm a monster."

"Lanny, no, you're..."

"I am, I-I can't be trusted, I can't-can't keep myself from," she shuddered, that long sealed crypt in her mind cracking open so all the ghosts were free to rattle through her soul. "I'm a curse of the Maker, to be locked up to keep everyone safe. It's the only...the only...." Her words crashed as she drifted lower, the sobs fading to a dull thud in her stomach.

"You've proven yourself time and again," Leliana insisted.

Lana snapped up at that, her red, splotchy eyes searching for the shocked blue ones of her dearest friend. "I nearly burned the Grand Cathedral down, a mage. Do you know what that would have done to the other mages? To the chantry? To thedas itself?!"

Her truthful and stark words struck Leliana who stumbled back from Cullen. Leliana placed her fingers into her mouth and began to bite down on the edge of the skin while thinking. Moaning, Lana tumbled back into Cullen's lap. He waited a few breaths for the ringing from her shout to die away before speaking, "These things happen, you know that."

"To young ones, to mages who are struggling."

"You're struggling now, but that doesn't mean it's permanent," he sighed as he cupped her shoulder with his hands, "Lana, whatever you went through in the fade, you knew it'd hurt. It..." he swallowed and his fingers dug in tighter to her skin, "it was three years after the tower before I suffered my first nightmare panic. I woke in the kitchen with a knife in my hand attempting to kill a head of cabbage I thought was a demon."

"You never..." she began, rising up to face him.

Cullen cupped his hands around her cheeks to hold her close. "I'm ashamed of it, of failing myself, of not having enough control but I found ways around it. To keep myself from doing it again and protect the people I care about. You can do the same."

She shuddered at his hopeful turn. "No, no I can't because you're...you can put down the blade, but I..." She lifted her hands up to her face, her traitorous fingers that should be coated in blood, "I can't. I'm cursed, broken, and without control there's..."

Lana gasped as an epiphany flooded her mind, and Cullen focused anew upon her. She couldn't look at him anymore, and her eyes tried to slide away down to his shirt, "There's only one thing to be done to mages without control. One thing. I should be made tranquil."

Leliana clapped a hand to her mouth, the slap echoing in the suddenly silent room. Risking it, Lana glanced up at Cullen and found his head tilted high, his eyes scanning the ceiling while a few tears slipped free. He breathed deep with his mouth, his cheeks flattening as he tried to find strength. "Lana, you're...no, that's not an option for you. You're past your harrowing. You, chantry law states--"

"When did that ever stop you?" she cried out, and instantly regretted it as his face crumbled, every shameful sorrow rising upon Cullen's brow. "Maker, I..." she tried to apologize, her deadly hands reached out to touch him, but she froze. Hanging her head down, Lana groaned, "I took the harrowing before all of this occurred. Before I faced down an archdemon or became trapped in the fade. Before I...broke."

"I will not allow it!" Leliana thundered, cutting her hand through the air. Both Cullen and Lana turned to her to find ruddiness blemishing her perfect skin and tears pouring down her cheeks. "The Rite of Tranquility has been abandoned and for good reason. It will not happen, not under any circumstances."

"But..."

"There are no buts here, no one will be," Leliana stumbled from her fiery speech and she sobbed once as if she could already picture the Lana with her mind burned away, "No, I will not allow it. Find another way."

"I'm sorry," Cullen spoke, his voice stuttering them both towards him. Leliana looked as if she planned to yank Lana away if he intended to go back on her word, but he continued, "it's my fault for...for pushing you so hard. To, I keep wanting you to be better, healthy, but..."

"Cullen, I," Lana wrapped her fingers around his cheeks as if trying to lift them into a forced smile, "I never should have said that. It, it wasn't right."

"No, it was. It did happen, often. I-I did that, and more, in the service of what I thought was the greater good. You're no more a monster than I am," he sighed, his head drifting down.

Her heart rose from its black depths, taking a rare sip of light to drive Lana to wrap her arms around him and tug his head tight to her in an embrace, "I love you."

"Why?" he asked, shaking his head. "There are dozens of reasons, hundreds why you shouldn't..."

Lana laid her finger against his lips. His words died but his exhausted eyes trailed over her begging for an explanation, "Because I do. Scars and all."

"I love you too, Lana. So much. And, I swear to the Maker, I will do everything I can to keep you safe," he cried.

"Even from myself?" she stuttered, wishing not for the first time that she could purge all the mana from her forever and never cast another spell.

"With everything inside of me. I'll sleep beside you for every night, every nap, hold you tight and tell you it's safe, no one's coming for you. Blanket your mana, do everything I can in my body to keep you safe, here."

She blinked, trying to think through the despair's gnarled hands wrapped around her mind, "What about the Inquisition?"

"I don't care, you need me more than they ever will."

"Your plans to return to Skyhold...?" She gasped, wondering if that wasn't what pushed her over the edge. Lana was happy to put on the smile and crack the occasional joke to distract people from her own traumatized soul. It was one of the things she and Alistair shared perhaps most in common. She could run from her own depression for weeks, sometimes months, but when it caught up to her it was as if her entire world crumbled in on itself. And when the storm passed she had to pick up the pieces and rebuild her life from the rubble.

Cullen butted his forehead into hers, his fingers curling up her cheeks, "Cancelled, all of them. We'll find another way, I can find another way. I'm not leaving you."

"I'm dangerous," she whispered, "dangerous mages are..."

"We're all dangerous," Leliana cut in, her blue eyes blazing. "Magic or no, and...this is not the time to be having this argument. Lanny, please, let me help you change into something not scorched."

Biting on her lip, she banged her fingers together and stared down at the nails chewed to a nub, the edges jagged and brittle. It wasn't from breaking them on accident, nor from her malnourished state in the fade. When Lana would fight against the horrors in her mind, the darkness trailing her heart, she'd bite down on her finger almost tearing off a nail to try and pinch herself back to the real world. How long had she been running from this? Her fingers were bruised and blackened, angry specs of red lining along her cuticles from the way she mistreated them.

Cullen's fingers circled over top of hers, his skin cracked and rough from his own trials. She watched him gently wrap around her hands until he could grip tight and hold her. "Lana," he whispered, his voice raw and close, "let me help you. Please."

Strong. How did he have such strong hands? That was what she was supposed to be, the big, strong hero. The woman who ended a blight didn't get scared, shouldn't wish away the magic that saved thedas, and would never show any doubts. But she wasn't that woman, never was even when she threw on the mask and paraded about in armor sealing up her body and soul. Never letting anyone in because, because they'd know the truth about her, about how fragile she really was and how easily she broke. And they'd hate her for it.

Bobbing her head, Lana acquiesced and let him save her from herself.


	15. Crumbs

He couldn't hide the tremors in his hands as Cullen struggled to get a glass of water down his parched throat. For once he suspected the thirst wasn't the lyrium's doing but the fire's, not that fact helped him much. Lana rested upon a chair, her feet tucked up under her and a pillow in her lap as she stared out through the window. She wasn't better, but she wasn't asking anyone to brand her either. Refusing the bath no matter how many times Leliana suggested it, Lana stripped off the old tunic and slid into a robe. It was far too long for her small frame, hems trailing upon the floor when she rose to her feet, but it didn't reek of smoke that stung their eyes.

As he tossed the glass back, Cullen got a whiff of the smoke upon his own shirt and sighed. He needed to change too, but there wasn't time and he wasn't leaving Lana alone. "Do you want anything to drink?" he asked, his voice tender. Her head lifted from its stupor but she shook it a soft no before laying it back down.

Nodding, Cullen returned the carafe back to the counter and began to walk towards her when the Divine's inner door opened and Detan walked in unannounced. She had a clipboard jammed under her arm and a tray of food in her hands. All manner of comfort foods sat upon the silver tray; cookies, crackers, toasts with a multitude of jams, a sampling of meat and sausages. Anything to try and tempt Lana into eating. Cullen picked the tray out of Detan's overloaded arms and she smiled in thanks. He turned to present hopefully something to Lana, when the elf grabbed onto his arm.

"Ser, if'n you please, there are some, um, matters to discuss," her scrutinizing eyes darted to Lana curled up in on herself, before landing back upon Cullen.

"Can it wait?" he sighed, his arms already straining from the load. His body was reaching the point of collapse itself, and he suspected any attempts at being polite or official would end in him snapping someone's head off.

"It's only, if you're serious in canceling your trip to Skyhold..."

"Yes, that's off the table," he interrupted.

"Right, my issue is we had letters to be delivered regarding your trip and nearly all of them referencing it," she whispered.

Groaning, Cullen tried to not abandon his bare grasp on the waking world before collapsing onto the floor in exhaustion. They'd been planning this trip with a rather terrifying degree of organization, and most of the letters he'd spent the week preparing were meant to head out today. "Hold them back, all of them, until I...figure something out."

Detan bobbed her head, her eyes darting over to the mournful mage, "Very well, Ser. And is there anything I can do for..." she pointed towards Lana but didn't say her name.

Shaking his head, Cullen hoisted the tray up higher, "No. I wish there was, but..." He screwed his eyes tight from his tongue taking command. No one else needed to know of her struggles, not now. "Thank you for your help," he said instead.

"Of course," Detan bowed deep before sliding towards the door and to no doubt run down a dozen messengers.

Lifting the tray higher than his muscles wanted, Cullen tried to put on a smile but it refused to take, "Lana, are you hungry?" Her head raised up and she glanced once over the options before shrugging. "You need to eat, it's been...a very long day," he groaned. Maker, he wasn't cut out for this. He had a temper, a spiteful one that could rear up at the worst times. There was little tenderness mixed into his blood, not when he sat upon the edge himself. Cullen made for the worst nursemaid imaginable and somehow he was the only hope she had. It seemed a cruel joke.

After sliding the tray upon the short coffee table beside Lana's chair, Cullen bent his legs and collapsed onto the footstool. He'd meant to hit a chair, but it didn't matter. It got him off his feet. Exhaustion claimed its prize fast, climbing up his limbs that'd been knotted up tight for over six hours now. Unable to lean back while holding her, he had to sit upright for hours to prop Lana up, which chewed through his lower back. When Leliana left to handle something important, Cullen took to racing through the foreign apartments to find anything Lana might need. In his haste, he stumbled across a few of the Divine's secrets hidden inside drawers he never should have opened. It would have scared his cheeks in embarrassment but he was beyond feeling much of anything in his state. Now his body sagged as if he'd climbed through the Arbor Wilds again, drained of everything inside of him.

How could he be strong enough for her? She faced, Maker, he barely knew what in the fade. His brief moment nearly scooped out his heart from his chest, and she was in there for two years. Alone, abandoned, with only spirits to talk to. Spirits that seemed to torment her the way blood mages plucked him apart. Lana needed someone with an iron arm who could stand for days without tiring, who didn't face exhaustion at the hands of his depleted veins crying out for lyrium. She needed someone...

A warm hand rolled over his, pulling him out of his maudlin turn. He didn't realize he'd crumpled into his lap until Cullen sat up, blood rushing to his cheeks and brain. Lana didn't look at him, her stricken eyes hovering through the floor, but she gripped tighter, her fingers trying to knot around his as she yearned to anchor to him. Returning it, he gripped tight and then covered her hand with his second one.

She needed him, and any doubt on his part was foolish.

Lana's free fingers drifted over the tray. Pulling up a few of the cookies, she passed one to Cullen first. "No, you should..." he began before she nudged it hard enough into his fist to break a small section off. Crumbs littered the ground, drawing Honor's attention from across the room. The dog sat vigil ever since they trekked up to the strange apartment, scared to touch or look at anything. Like she was wiggling below a nest of thorns, Honor crawled upon her belly across the floor and below the footstool's legs. Her muscular front legs snagged upon the tight fit and with a great stretch, she lapped her pink and black tongue out to reach for the scattered crumbs.

"Silly girl," Lana mumbled. Her voice was hoarse and whisper quiet, but when Cullen snapped his head up at it, there was a hint of a smile upon her face. Maker, it was eight hours of sleep and a four course meal to his soul to see even a moment of levity in Lana.

Accepting the cookie from her slack fingers, he took a great bite and was surprised to find them rather simple and not too sweet. "These aren't half bad," Cullen said, chewing through his words.

Lana's wary eyes rolled over to his as she took a bite of the second biscuit. Her teeth bit down slowly, savoring each chew before she swallowed prominently. After a moment she sighed, "I should have known you'd love it, seeing as how you hate all things sweet."

"Not all things..." he began to defend himself when he watched that half smile flit about her face. She was fighting to find her old self buried under all the pain and self hatred. "You're right, I am stone, hate everything bright and sweet in the world."

"Really? Everything?"

"Sunshine makes me rear back and hiss," he said, his tone so certain it lifted the other half of her smile up. "A baby's laugh is like a cat scream in my ears."

Lana snorted once, her fingers splayed out across her lap. After watching her hands for a time, she asked, "What about glitter?"

"No one likes glitter," Cullen said, meaning every word.

"I dunno, Dagna could do some pretty things with it," Lana sighed, her head tipping back and forth.

"Ah yes, like the time she and Sera managed to fill an entire barrel with the stuff, stick it inside a trebuchet then launch it right into the walls of Skyhold."

Lana blinked rapidly. For the first time her head lifted and her eyes focused into his. "You're...you're lying?"

He groaned and threw his head back, "After their glitter bomb nearly shattered a window and splattered pink and purple sparkles across an entire tower, the winds picked it up and blew half back across the courtyard. I was picking it out of my scruff for two weeks."

She chuckled, the laugh barely audible as she gave it no breath, but it was there. Cullen wanted to reach over, tug her into his arms, and hold her as he described the great glitter attack in fine details. But Lana hung upon such a narrow thread he settled for gripping onto her hand instead. Holding tight, she bounced their joined hands together up and down, watching both their muscles contract and relax.

"I'm sorry," she began.

"Lana, you don't have to apologize for the fire."

"No, not that," her eyes bored into their joined hands. "I mean, I am sorry for it, but... What I said earlier, about you and-and what happened in Kirkwall."

Cullen sucked in a breath. He'd been doing his best to not think about what her words stirred up in him, how ashamed he felt and regretful, the ghost of repentance haunting his every move. "It was true," he said, accepting that he deserved to be reminded of the pain he caused, perhaps daily. A shame that should never blot away.

But Lana whipped her head back and forth, "That doesn't matter. I shouldn't have said it, ever. It's..." Her broken brown eyes drifted up to him, "it's not fair for me to throw that around against you, and I, forgive me, please."

"You were in pain," he said.

"Still am," she admitted, her free hand cupping her head.

"Lana, do you...do you still wish to be--"

"No," she shook her head, "I don't think so. I...it's in there. That...threat? Fact? The mages used to use it sometimes, some enchanters would threaten us with it. 'If you don't learn how to channel your mana they're gonna take a poker to your skull and burn your emotions out of you.' To try and push us to do our homework, or when they were frustrated. Always there, at any time it could fall upon you. I never realized how often I absorbed that until..."

"You never know how messed up your world is until you meet someone who isn't," Cullen sighed, his thumb and forefinger pinching into his eyes. She tugged on his hand, and he felt her looking a question at him. Pulling his fingers away, Cullen stared at the reflection in the silver tray. The warped metal revealed a man beseeched with wrinkles, frown and scowl lines permeant, and his head pinched inward as if all the horrors inside his brain finally sucked him dry.

"After Kirkwall...fell, after the chantry fell, I... Some of the other circles sent templars to assist early on. I'd meet with them, not much, there needed to be orders given and someone decided it should be me."

"I know how that goes," she sighed, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand. Maker, he loved when she did that. It was one of her little gestures that he'd wake aching for after she died almost as much as a kiss or embrace.

Burying his head lower, Cullen watched the warped and broken man speaking his tale in the reflection, "There wasn't much time for getting to know everyone, but people needed a break between the work and levity was bound to happen. I was speaking with another Knight-Captain, a good woman from Nevarra. She was always smiling, even after twelve hours of shifting rubble. We got onto the subject of contraband and the strangest things we'd catch mages try to sneak in."

Cullen shook his head, the scent of charred flesh rising from memory to fill his nostrils. Kirkwall stank of it for weeks after it fell, mages turning their fire on all who got in the way. "She spoke of it all as a laugh. I can't remember what all she mentioned but with each listing of found contraband as if they were little more than a harmless prank I kept thinking, 'We'd have branded someone for that. They'd have been tossed into the hole, never allowed outside.'"

Hands wrapped around from his side, and he started from his depths to find Lana had slipped out of her chair to hug tight around him. She buried her face into his shirt, her sweet fingers locking him in as he told her the darkest depths of his heart. "The others, the templars loaned to us, they laughed too at the list, added their own and I stood dumbstruck, unable to face up to how far we'd lost our way. How far we...how far I'd fallen." He glanced over at the face in the tray, tears streaming down cheeks and utter heartbreak in the eyes.

Against all common sense, the mage continued to hug him, the man who'd done countless horrors to her own kind. He could see it all in her, the wear the circle placed upon her mind, what the threat of the rite of tranquility did to her even years away from the circle. And how many mages did he do the same to? How many did he torture without meaning to? "Lana," he moaned, biting down on his lip to try and suck back in the tears. This wasn't supposed to happen, he wasn't meant to break down, not now. She needed him.

But Lana rose from her knees, her face lifting off of him. Gently, she wiped her thumb across his cheeks and knotted her hands around the back of his neck. Pulling his forehead to hers, she breathed deep and held the breath. He watched her lips softly mime a count of five before she released it. Threading his limp hands around her waist, he began to match her, trying to chase this imaginary calm people talked about by breathing as deep as his lungs allowed. They stayed like that, pressed together at the forehead and filling their bodies with air for what felt like forever.

"Ah!" Lana cried out suddenly. Cullen's eyes flew open terrified to find her in pain but a laugh broke up her features instead. She shouted again, her hands breaking from his neck to bat at the dog's tongue trying to lick up the crumbs scattered in the folds of the robe. "Honor! Silly puppy..." shaking her head, the laugh faded into tears almost instantly.

"Will you keep me from hurting other people?" she asked. A deadly seriousness cut through her watering brown eyes.

"Lana, I..."

"I know, you love me, you don't think I would ever hurt anyone, but right now I don't need to hear from Cullen. I need the templar. The one I recruited to-to finish the job I couldn't. Because what's inside of me, it...it scares me sometimes and you, you're the only... You have my permission to drain my mana when necessary. To cancel any spells that grow out of hand or...or anything else to stop me."

She whispered the last part, her eyes trailing down to the rug and he understood what she meant by anything else. "Lana," he swallowed deep, "I can use a mana cleanse against you, I may even be able to restrain you should it be necessary," he gulped that last part, still struggling to come to terms with the idea. "But..." Cullen screwed up his eyes and beat back the eternal torment roiling in his gut to get the last words out, "I can never kill you."

He hated that he had to say it, that it was ever a possibility, but she had a right to think it, to fear it. What he'd done, could have done to her or any mage... Lana's fingers graced over his chest as she tugged her cheek to him for a hug. "Understood," she said.

"You, you believe me?" he stuttered in surprise.

"With my whole heart," she said, placing her cheek above his pounding heart. He couldn't do it, not even if she was possessed. The King wondered often from him, his questions getting nothing more than a glower as answer from Cullen, but he couldn't stop them from floating back to it at night. Every time he asked himself if he could, the answer always came back no. As long as there was even a crumb of hope, he'd cling to it, as he always did.

"Lana, I'm...what I've done is unforgivable," he gulped, terrified that in his exhausted and raw state he did what he begged the Maker to never have happen and ruined his one chance at happiness.

She sighed and lifted her head, "Do you find me reprehensible?"

"No."

"Even though I nearly burned down the Grand Cathedral, even knowing the terrors lurking inside of me, even if I can't handle my power between the sleeping and waking world as if I'm some child wetting the bed. Knowing all that, can you ever look upon me again?"

Locking his palms tight against her cheek, he pulled Lana up to face him and lost himself in her endless eyes. "I can never stop looking at you."

Her lids slipped closed and a whisper of a smile floated upon her lips. "That's how I feel about you."

"Blessed Andraste," Cullen gasped, clinging to such a simple answer. She looked about to explain, but none was necessary. Instead, he tugged her tight to his chest, his lips peppering the top of her head in kisses. Lana melted into him, her own face brushing against his shirt as she murmured words to try and calm him, soothe him, help them both.

"I ran into Detan on the stairs and she said she delivered the food tray..." Wrapped up together with Lana on the floor and Cullen squatting on a footstool was the perfect time for Leliana to come traipsing back into the room. She skidded to a halt at the sight of the two of them and blinked a moment. Cullen opened his arms to let Lana slide out, but she clung tighter to him for a beat longer, her cheek brushing against his smoke stained shirt.

"Seems to be a rather enticing spread," Leliana continued, trying to fight on through the awkwardness. "I hope you found something to eat."

"I did," Lana said, sliding away from Cullen and turning to her friend, "thank you."

Leliana started for a moment, her sharp eyes softening to a heartbreaking cry of joy for those few words from Lana. "Did you, uh, find a favorite. I'm partial to the strawberry eclairs myself. You tried one?"

"Not yet," Lana scrubbed at her eyes with her forearm, "but Cullen liked the butter cookies."

"Oh...?"

He shrugged and quaintly said, "I have simple tastes." Something in it was enough to draw a laugh from Lana, her hand flying to her mouth to cover over a chuckle gaining in momentum. Unable to stop himself, Cullen gently ran his fingers through her hair, but he felt a stare from Leliana. When he turned up to it, he read only an eternal gratefulness in her eyes. He lifted his shoulder; he'd had nothing to do with Lana turning a corner. It was all on her.

"Should we eat or...?" Leliana asked, gesturing to the piles of food that could feed six people.

"I..." Lana began to stagger to her feet, which Leliana was quick to offer help with, "I think it's time to take that bath and wash the soot off me. And give Cullen a chance to change. Your shirt stinks," she turned back to him in a jesting tone, but he didn't have the strength to banter back. He picked up her dangling hand and lightly pressed a kiss to it. She smiled, her fingers running against his stubble before succumbing to the Divine's pull.

While Leliana led Lana to the bathroom, Cullen glanced down at the dog under his makeshift chair. "You did good," he whispered to her, his fingers knocking about her ears. This wasn't going to be easy by any measure, and Lana would need more than time to get better, to find her feet, but he had faith in her the same way she had faith in him. Scooting forward, Cullen reached out to snatch up one of the sausages, when a blast of the smoke scent rose off his shirt and he crinkled his nose. She was right, he needed to change too.

Tugging off his shirt and stuffing the sausage in his mouth, then passing one to Honor, Cullen twisted about looking for a waiting hamper. From the bathroom he heard the sound of water splashing as a body slid into the tub.

Time, patience, and hope. _Maker, please give all of those to me in equal measure because she deserves it._

"Lanny, by the void, what did you put in this robe's pocket? Are these cracker crumbs?"

A great belly laugh took hold of Cullen and he doubled over, for the first time feeling like they'd survive this.


	16. Mistakes

_I'm writing to you because..._

_This letter is in regards to..._

_I never thought that I'd..._

"Maker, damn it all!" Lana cried, digging the quill over every attempted sentence with such vengeance it split open the vellum. Her head collapsed onto the desk and she rotated her forehead against it a few more times for good measure.

"Lana, are you...?" Cullen's voice echoed from the sitting room. She heard his approach towards the office, the one she took over for the vital task of writing a necessary letter for the past hour, all of which amounted to absolutely nothing.

Extending her fingers clutching tight to the quill, Lana jabbed her hand in the air but didn't lift her forehead.

"I am guessing it's not going well," he said. In answer, she rolled her head against the table and moaned more. "Do you have anything of use?"

Her fingers dug across the desk and lifted up a half dozen scratched and mutilated sheafs of vellum. Cullen flipped through them and sighed. It took two days before they returned to the apartment which was chilled to the bone from the windows being thrown open to allow the scent to clear. Lana's first concern was for the poor Adder's Hiss, nearly covered in frost, its ice crystal dirt dry to the touch. It was the only time she let Cullen water it, as she found it hard to focus on anything.

The days sharing an apartment with Leliana weren't as long as the nights. She offered up her bed to Lana, said she could easily keep a watch on her, but Lana refused. Sleep once again chilled the blood in her heart. A few hours here and there, she'd drift off while propped up in a chair but Lana hadn't gotten a full night's rest in days. The worst was what it did to Cullen. Not willing to leave her alone, and insisting he didn't need a bed either, he spent every night trying to fall asleep upon one of the benches in the Divine's quarters while clinging tight to Lana's hand. His sneer seemed to be permanent now, as well as a hunch along his knotted shoulders.

While Cullen was grateful to be back in walls without the Divine and her bevy of clerics, as well as Honor, Lana inched around the rooms terrified that a glance at her failure would send her crashing back to bottom. The cleanup crew did wonders buffing up the walls and scrubbing away all soot and ash. They took the time to replace the burned up rug with a new one and instead of the vanity a new, empty bookcase sat in its place. Cullen chuckled that they'd have it filled in three days.

She tried that first night. With the help of a sleeping draught from the Divine's personal apothecary, Lana slid into bed beside Cullen and attempted to embrace sleep. For an hour she lay stretched out upon her back glaring at the ceiling and trying to not look over at the hole where the vanity once stood. Snores reverberated from the man who passed out almost instantly, not that she could blame him. She was so hard on him even if she didn't mean to be. Sleep, it was necessary, it would help, but what if...? What if she did it again? What if it wasn't fire or ice, but something far worse that slipped from her fingers? Very few people could combat a death hex from her, much less reverse its effects. Every way she could ruin and maim someone she didn't mean to floated through her mind.

When Cullen woke, he found Lana curled up on the divan while Honor lay on top of her. He tried to get the mabari off quietly, but it was enough to rouse Lana from her shallow sleep. After making certain she didn't hurt anyone, she apologized for not lasting the night. Books she began to read, then abandoned for others were stacked like small towers around the couch. Which was how she'd spent the last two nights, always starting in the bedroom with the plan to last but trekking out to force Honor to share her favorite sleeping spot. The breaking point was looming ever closer for them both, but Lana had no idea how to stop it.

"Tell me you know what to write," Lana moaned finally lifting her head. It felt flattened like a pancake from her rolling it around.

"I'm afraid not," Cullen sighed. "I rather suspect anything I'd have to say to the man wouldn't be taken well."

Lana snorted at that, a sharp inhale, "As if mine would be any better. Why did Leliana suggest this?"

"She said this was who you should write to?" he asked uncertain as he watched her fish out another fresh sheet and begin again.

"No, not exactly. She just kept on and on about how I had to talk to someone. I think she meant her, but..."

"You can talk to me," he threw out, sliding across the desk. Lana's agitation paused and she glanced up at him. Cupping her hand against his knee, she squeezed tight.

"I know, but this is...it's not something that, well..."

"It is a mage thing," he summarized. Gently, Cullen ran his fingers down her cheek and curled around her ear.

"Non-mages wouldn't understand what it means. You don't, you can't...ah! I don't want to do this!" Lana banged her face back into the desk, causing the ink well to rattle.

"Are you certain that it'll reach him?" Cullen asked. He seemed to be as much against this idea as Lana was only without voicing anything against it because he was trying to play her cheering squad. Sometimes she missed his sour moods, endlessly chipper Cullen felt wrong.

Leliana thought she was helping, trying to get Lana to open up about what drove her to fly fire from her fingers. Unable to shy away from it under cover of trauma, Lana began to crack jokes about who wouldn't want to set that garish vanity ablaze. Which only caused her old friend to sigh and cross her arms. Thank the Maker, for Cullen. He didn't push for her to rise up to her problems and give them a whack on the nose. Granted, he seemed to do about the same thing as Lana did by wadding any pain into a tight ball at the bottom of his stomach and never talking about it. She wondered if there was a market for templar and mage created bezoars at times. Their shared worries bundled into a bolus had to amount for good coin.

By the third visit of Lana less than deftly shaking off her psyche, Leliana insisted that she either speak to a mage about it or Leliana was going to bring one in to do it herself. And that was why Lana squirreled away in the office to force herself to compose a letter she never wanted to. The other alternative was to face up to a mage of Leliana's choosing. It could be one she knew from the circle, or worse, one as her time as the Hero. Either way, her secret would be ruined, because mages were the worst gossipers she'd ever known.

"What am I going to do?" she whined. With her thumb, she fluffed up the back of the quill, the pressure increasing with each run until she felt the hollow tip threaten to snap in half.

"Which part is giving you pause?" Cullen asked, his question drawing her up to look at him. "Who you're writing it to, or...talking about what happened?"

"Maybe a little of both?" she confessed, staring through the walls. Someone took the time to put up wallpaper around the back room, each section dotted with little diamonds and crowns. If she crossed her eyes it almost looked as if the crowns were coming out of the walls at her.

Reaching further, Cullen wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tried to tug her up for a hug. The chair she sat in refused to follow, but Lana leaned towards him and gripped back. After placing a kiss in her hair, he smiled, "I'm certain you'll think of something. You always do. Oh, I forgot, there's another letter here for you from the King."

"Alistair?" Lana accepted it, the envelope thudding into her hands from the weight.

"Nearly one if not two a week. How does he have time to rule a country?"

Lana snickered, "Well, the alternative would be him putting all that time into ruling so..."

"You make a fair point. I assume his aides regularly slot him in front of a desk and tell him to write so he doesn't cause half of Ferelden to fall into the Amaranthine ocean."

She couldn't stop laughing at Cullen's obvious discomfort with Alistair, which he often drove to extremes. After curling her fingers in his hand and squeezing back for a moment, Lana slit her finger down the envelope's catch. But there was no letter inside. Turning the envelope upside down, she watched as golden coins plopped out one by one onto the desk; ten in total.

"By the void," Cullen sighed, "he sent you Sovereigns? What in flames for?"

Lana smiled wide as she picked one up and turned it in her fingers. The embossed Ferelden mabari strutted proud off the glint. "It means there's a baby in the palace," she grinned, remembering her bet to him. "And Ali's finally gotten himself that family."

"Oh..." Cullen inched back, his head slightly bowing to his chest. Dropping the coin with the others, Lana grabbed onto his arm and tugged him down to her level for a full hug. He started for a moment, her reach shaking him from his thoughts, but after getting his bearings he returned it in kind. Turning her head, she caught his lips and kissed him with eyes so tight she could see stars.

"What..." Cullen gasped, his mouth sliding away, "was that for?"

"For saving me," Lana said.

"Ah, that, uh..." he dove back, kissing her again, "I'd gladly do it again."

Lana ran her fingers down his cheek, her thumb tracing along the scar upon his mouth until it softly pulled his bottom lip open. She felt a tremble inside of her that for once had nothing to do with fear. "I know," Lana sighed. Not ready to let him go, she reached her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a crushing hug. Cullen answered it in kind as she buried her face into his soft chest while his strong fingers locked tight, his biceps flexing against her from how he clung.

As he broke away, he now caressed her cheek and smiled that soulful Cullen one. "I should leave you to begin that letter."

"Yes, I suppose so," Lana sighed, her head hanging down. She knew she had to do it, to try and get better, to be strong enough to keep going. "When I'm finished in here, do you want to, uh..." a silly blush climbed up her cheeks and she tried to hide it under a hand.

"What?"

"Um, uh..." Maker she felt foolish and giddy, her stomach flipping upside down, "whipped cream?"

Cullen's head tipped down but she spotted a smile climbing his cheeks, no doubt from the ridiculous way she asked that. "If you wish," he said, picking up her hands, "and now I have to somehow return to work waiting in anticipation. You're a challenge," he smiled wider with the last part and slid off the desk. Halfway across the floor, Cullen turned back and whispered over his shoulder, "Please, write quickly."

"I'll try," she couldn't bury the smile in her voice as she glanced over at the monumental task ahead of her. Cullen was right, it wasn't just what she had to put down but who it was to, who she had to ask for help. He made it to the doorway, when Lana called out, "I still blame myself for him, for what happened."

Pausing, he ran his hand up and down the wooden frame before speaking, "We all blame ourselves."

As Cullen drifted back out to the sitting room, no doubt failing to get anything accomplished in his own to do pile, Lana hoisted out a fresh stack of vellum from the rest and began anew.

 

To: Anders

C/O Hawke

 

I am writing to you for help. This isn't easy and is not meant to make amends for our difference of opinion, but you may be the only person I can turn to as much as it pains me to think about...

 

* * *

 

To: (struck through but still legible) Warden Commander (hand changed to Hawke's blockier script) **___E__ SecretNameToNotMention**

**C/O: The Divine and her crafty pigeons**

_(Note from Leliana: Maker's breath, they're ravens. How can she not recognize ravens?)_

 

> I went though about a dozen opening lines from laughing at you needing my help, to taunting you with a refusal. Which Hawke then read and pouted over. So, here it is, my response. From Anders, the one that betrayed you, the order, all mages. Your eternal disappointment. Congrats.
> 
> To the first point, no, Justice doesn't have much of any advice about the fade. We can't believe you survived inside it physically for two years. No one's done that in, well...darkness, sick, black over gold, blight, darkspawn, you know the rest. There is something, a glimmer in Justice's I wouldn't call it a memory but an idea. That the veil itself was less than, or more. I don't know, I'm getting a headache and Hawke's making her puppy eyes at me. I must be glowing again trying to tap into Justice.
> 
> Fine, yes, it was a bad mistake. Are you happy? I know you kept trying to get that from me, to hear me say it aloud as if I didn't already know. Stupid old Anders, the mage who never committed to anything went and locked himself forever with a spirit. A spirit that's slowly driving me (thick ink marks covered over what he wrote). Forget it. It's too late, it's done, and there's no going back.
> 
> Kinda like the wardens, huh? Look at you, the great Commander who stood for us all, brought us under your big griffin wing and you abandoned them same as me. But not really, right? Told your templar about all of that? What's waiting at the end for those of us in the taint club? We never really leave the Wardens no matter how far we run.
> 
> All right, I got it out of my system. Wait, one more "ha ha, welcome to my world, you're trapped here forever." Okay, done. You want help and I might have some ideas. The nightmare casting, yeah it's a bit embarrassing to bring up to other mages. About on par with a late potty training accident and hiding the evidence of a first wet dream. But, and I swear to the Maker if you tell anyone else I'll send you a very crisply worded letter because I'm not going anywhere near Val Royeaux, I've had them too.
> 
> Since joining with Justice, there are times when I don't know, it's not his doing but my own. Nightmares, more than that, this hunger to do something. And all around me were injustices, pain that I wasn't helping to solve. It'd drive me awake. Lucky thing I'd mostly wake to find myself trying to heal a wall. But you, I tasted your power and I'd be freaking out too.
> 
> Hawke's telling me that I'm not helping, only making you feel worse. I suggested she send a cake to try and aid you and that was right up her alley, so expect that. Also glitter, she seems to think glitter will help. So, an answer to your immediate problem. Seems you've got a templar in easy reach which oughta help a bit. He'd know more of how to hamstring a mage better than I, your bigger problem is keeping him from enjoying it.
> 
> Fine, I will be _helpful_ and _nice._
> 
> There's a signal Hawke and I use. When I'm losing control and Justice tries to pop out, she'll say a word, a special word we have to tell me that things are okay, that he's not needed, and that I need to calm down. It doesn't always work, but mostly's better than nothing. And no, I will not say where we learned that technique from no matter how much Hawke needles me to tell the story. You've met Isabela, you can probably guess.
> 
> Anyway, that's all I have. Come up with some word or safety phrase your templar can throw out to convince your mind this is reality and not the fade. You'd know of all the potions that curb mana better than I do. Burn off mana when you can, keep open fires to a minimum, and don't eat Hawke's cake - it's made with pickled plums.
> 
> And, Commander, thank you, for what you did for Hawke. I know there is nothing I could have done or will ever do to deserve her. She's the only thing in thedas that keeps me sane and gives me a reason to get up in the morning. If I'd lost her I don't know what I'd do, and your sacrifice kept me from having to find out. So, thank you and I hope you heal, because in the end you were a good Commander. I was a lousy Warden.

(Signed with a drawing of a fearsome mountain lion far more detailed than Hawke's dragon doodlings)

Beneath the drawing is the label "Ser Pounce-A-Lot II"


	17. Release

Pinching his forehead, Cullen tried to stretch his legs out from under the foreign desk. It must have been built with the always shrinking Mothers in mind as he kept banging his toe, heel, and knee into it when shifting his legs. To get through the day, he'd have to sit turned to the side, which gave whoever he was meeting with the impression that he was in a hurry and didn't care for what they had to say.

Situated near the Grand Cathedral, the borrowed office was so he could take all the meetings he should have had in Skyhold. Most were with dignitaries and others that moved between the fortress and Orlais, willing to pass on information or trusted enough to carry it. He claimed it far from the apartment so there was no risk of anyone recognizing Lana, and Leliana was happy to establish it.

Craning his neck back, Cullen gazed through the ceiling and wondered what the two of them were up to. When he last saw Lana she was hunched over a piece of vellum not writing but drawing an eternal series of lines to make a grid. After Leliana appeared with a bag of coins, rocks, and two bottles of wine he knew it was time to leave them alone, though Honor bravely stayed behind.

It'd been a long day of getting nowhere with people who had little to no push within the Inquisition. Half he didn't recognize, and the other he knew as cooks or buyers that once reported to Josephine and now answered to an amalgam of people. So many months since he last visited, and Cullen knew nothing of Skyhold's current infrastructure. All of his meetings kept making mention of some big Satinalia feast as if he should know of it and be planning to attend, but...Maker, what day was it again?

He reached out to pick up a mug of mead when a knock broke against the door. Taking a swig to clear out his caked in throat, Cullen called out, "Enter."

Detan appeared, her hair tied back even tighter than usual giving her a haunting look that reminded him of some of the well preserved corpses in Nevarra. She bowed deeply, and he waved his hand. They'd been working together long enough, Cullen saw no reason to stand on ceremony. "Ser!" When she snapped up she all but saluted, which set Cullen on edge.

"What is it?" he asked, praying he didn't hear about the apartment catching on fire or something worse happening.

"There is a...you have a visitor, um, uh..."

Cullen's concern moved to the level of an army marching over the mountains. He'd never seen Detan flustered, and she'd regularly deal with the Divine, Grand Clerics, the Grand Enchanter, and Empress' trio. Who could get to her? As he staggered to his feet the answer carefully stepped into the door.

"Commander."

"Inquisitor," Cullen struggled to not gasp at the patrician elf filling the doorway. Despite having a wiry frame, he always managed to command a room as if it wasn't large enough to contain him. And all without relying upon bombastic bluster as most other nobility required.

Smiling with his thin lips, the Inquisitor turned grey eyes upon Detan. She giggled, a blush rising to her pale cheeks which she tried to fan away with her clipboards. "Could you give us leave, please? We have matters to discuss."

"Ah, yes, Ser, Inquisitor Sir, I..." Detan scrambled away so fast her heel smacked into the door.

It startled the certain Inquisitor so much he reached out to grip onto her hand to steady her and Detan melted fully into the puddle. Murmuring barely words, she slid out the rest of the way and loudly slammed the door. Outside they both heard a "Maker, damn it!" as she cursed herself before stepping away.

Spinning back to face Cullen, the Inquisitor tipped his chin, "I see you are in good health."

"I had no idea you intended to travel to Val Royeaux," Cullen gasped, sliding around the desk.

The Inquisitor smiled his thin lips, "It seems I am capable of some subterfuge all these years later after all." Instead of his red finery they all suffered with, or the armor fanatics sold copies of in shops across all of thedas he was dressed brazenly in what looked like old Dalish mail. Almost as if he dared anyone to call him a savage in it.

Slowly, the Inquisitor stuck out his hand and Cullen took it, shaking it with a firm grip. Glancing over at the missing arm still bundled tight to his chest as it healed, Cullen shook his head at being such a poor host. "Please, sit..." he said gesturing to the chair before the Inquisitor, as if he couldn't figure out how it worked.

Chuckling softly, the man tugged on the chair and eased down into it. With less grace, Cullen fell into his seat and managed to knock his knee against the desk in the process. Cursing the pain under his breath as he rubbed it, he missed the Inquisitor glancing around the office.

"Not as nice as Skyhold, but less drafty. And...it's strange."

"What is?" Cullen asked, trying to find some footing.

"To see you sitting. Blessed creators, every time I'd walk in on your office you always seemed to be standing, or, on occasion, picking at the floor."

"There were a lot of weeds trying to sprout through the floorboards and...not the point," Cullen shook his head and gulped. Maker, why did he feel like a Knight-Errant all over again facing down the gentle but strict glare of the Knight-Commander? "You must have come all this way for a reason."

"I have," he nodded his head. Sliding a hand between the buttons on his coat, he unearthed a letter. "Once I received word that you would not be able to return for the foreseeable future I decided to make the trip myself."

"You didn't have to, if it disturbs your..." he fumbled around a way of pointing out his amputated arm, but the Inquisitor lifted the limb up and chuckled.

"It's been healing well. All the best surgeons in thedas have had a hand in it, excusing the pun. But in truth, I suspect much of that was due to...how it was removed," he avoided saying Solas' name, a fact that began after he returned from wherever the mirrors took him. "And you..." the Inquisitor turned his head, those steel eyes warming to a soft grey, "you are well? I'd feared that something might have occurred to you given your reluctance to return."

"Ah, that, I can explain," Cullen began his tongue yearning to tell him the truth but he paused. It wasn't his secret to give. "Actually, I cannot. It's a..."

The Inquisitor held up his hand, "Let me guess, a private matter. I do not wish to pry into that, I was merely concerned that my best Commander was out of sorts and trapped in Orlais."

"My sorts are well in order but trapped does feel accurate somedays," Cullen said and a weight lifted off his shoulders. It felt good to admit that aloud.

"Yes, I would believe it. For a time I wondered if your letters were not some ruse. It seemed impossible to imagine you willingly ensconced in such...refinery. No matter, you have your reasons, and as I said I will not pry. I am here to finish what we began."

"Ser?" he tipped his head, lost.

A despondent smile flitted across his lips and he gripped tight to his forearm, "I do not relish saying my goodbyes. In fact, I do all I can to avoid them, but all good things must come to an end. Consider it official, Cullen Rutherford, you are released from your duties with the Inquisition. There was some talk of a pension and we'll have to figure out what to do with your belongings in time, but that's all matters for later."

"Inquisitor, I don't..." he gasped, it couldn't be that easy. "What about the troops and our timeline for...?" Cullen yanked up the letters he'd been working on for the past week.

"It's out of your hands now. Your replacement, Addley, she's been taking up the slack originally under the assumption you would return, but slotting her officially in place should be no problem. Not that I want you to think your absence will not be felt. It has for these past months and will continue. But we all have a life to live, and yours it seems is growing beyond us."

"Inquisitor, I..." he swallowed deep, "I don't know what to say." He thought that it would take more time, there'd be procedures to follow, and...done. Just like that. No more duty, no more having the lives of hundreds of people placed upon his shoulders. Cullen felt lighter, not as if he was freed of bonds shackled to his limbs, instead it was as if someone scooped out a part of him leaving him hollow inside.

"And of course, Skyhold will remain should you decide to pop on by," the Inquisitor threw out half heartedly, "we're not going to ban you from the mountain by any means."

Cullen bowed his head, a gratefulness merging with a stubborn need to want to cling to the familiar. Slipping his eyes tight, he thought of the woman waiting for him up the stairs, the reason he began this, his hope for a future, and some of the fear washed away. "Thank you, Inquisitor. For giving me the chance, the opportunity to prove to myself that I could be redeemed...I suppose."

The gentle man, the one few saw outside of his hard shell, wafted across the Inquisitor's face. With lashes laying flush against his cheeks, the Inquisitor bowed his head deep. "Commander Cullen, you have served us honorably and while we disagreed on occasion I was proud to think of you as a friend."

"And I yours, Ser," he reached out and grabbed the Inquisitor's hand. This was it. His future was nothing more than a question now, no one to answer to but himself. _Maker, was Cullen prepared to face the unknown?_ Dipping his chin down, he moved to release the Inquisitor's hand when a bark echoed from outside the door.

_Oh no._

"Strange," the Inquisitor remarked, "I swear I heard a dog."

Cullen stood up fast, his knee jamming on the desk, but he was too late. The door creaked open and Lana stepped inside. Her face was buried in something she was reading, but when she pulled it down so went her smile. _Where was Detan? Why wasn't she guarding the door to warn her?_

Gritting his teeth, Cullen glanced towards the Inquisitor who seemed to be taking the shock in stride. He closed his steel eyes tight, his head bobbing as if he was listening to a song in the distance. When they opened, he sighed, "Ah, now I understand why you are here in Val Royeaux."

"I, uh..." Lana eased backwards trying to escape the mess she walked into, but Honor butted her head into her legs, trapping her. She had to jam her cane in a new position, the echo drawing all their attention to it. Accepting there was no way to play it off, she bowed her head, "Inquisitor."

"So your mission was a success after all," he said to Cullen who was struggling to jam his jaw shut. "In truth, I feared it had failed. We heard no word of the resurrection of the Hero of Ferelden and...your refusing to return to Skyhold made me grow concerned."

"You were worried about..." Cullen struggled, shaking his head. "It's a complicated and long story of why we chose..."

He waved his hand again, "I do not wish to pry. It is your life, not mine. But Commander, I do have one request."

"Yes?" he asked, his eyes darting towards Lana. She'd thrown on her cloak of command, dampening down her panic, but he could see glimmers of it breaking through the mask.

"May I have a moment to speak with Lady Amell in private?"

"Why?" he asked, his never far need to protect Lana rising awake. It was foolish, he trusted the Inquisitor. He wasn't the kind of man to lash out at someone.

"There is something we need to talk about, leader to leader."

Lana reached over and ran her fingers down Cullen's arm, "It's all right. We're not going to come to blows in here."

"I rather doubt either of us is capable of such a feat at the moment," the Inquisitor cut in, his eyes darting down to Lana's cane.

She drug it across the floor from the attention, but nodded. "Are you...?" Cullen asked, but she wrapped her arm around his side and pulled herself in for a half hug.

"It will be fine, you worry too much," she chuckled.

Gently parting his fingers over her hair, he sighed, "Yes, I do. Often for no reason."

"It's what made you an excellent Commander," the Inquisitor spoke up.

Bobbing his head, Cullen began to slide out towards the door. "If you're certain, then I'll...um," at their stern looks, he patted his thigh, "Come on, Honor. Let's go." She barked, happy to be doing anything with her favorite human. Trying to not look back at Lana with a strange fear in his heart, Cullen slid out of the office that was supposed to be his and shut the door.

Placing his forehead against it, he whispered to himself, "I'll just be out here, waiting to see if my world's about to fall apart."

 

* * *

 

 

It wasn't the panicking and jittery Lana from meeting Mia that watched Cullen close the door, though the sound of his murmurs did fault her sure steps. Summoning a decade's worth of playing the Arlessa, she washed herself clean of any self doubt and presented only certainty to the Inquisitor. He in turn watched her, his steel eyes darting up and down her wobbling body as she tried to balance on her cane.

"Would you like to take a seat, Warden Commander?" he said as if the office was his.

Lana blinked, aware that she'd already lost in showing weakness, but sitting was preferable to falling face first onto the floor. Nodding, she hobbled towards the one Cullen must have bolted out of, still sitting kitty corner to the desk. "I assume you are overburdened with questions for me, Inquisitor," she said leaning her cane against the desk.

The move drew his sharp eyes towards it. Pointing at it, he asked, "Is that also a staff?"

"No," Lana answered truthfully, "simply a cane. Any magic passed through it would most likely cause the wood to combust."

"I see," he nodded his head softly. "Dagna has been rather excited about crafting me various hand prosthesis. One involved a grappling hook to, as she put it, 'Help me scurry up and down walls like a friendly, local, spider Inquisitor.'"

Lana snickered at his impression of Dagna, "I never expected that young dwarven girl to rise to such heights."

He bobbed his head a moment before placing his hand upon the desk, "You've touched lives. I'm certain she would be ecstatic to design a staff cane for you. No doubt it would be three times as powerful as any normal staff and come coated in glitter."

"While it would be cherished, I'm afraid no. I cannot ask that of her," she shook her head, trying to find a comfortable spot on the chair. Maker, it was like sitting upon stone. How did Cullen not notice?

"Is that humility that binds your tongue or...?" he asked, a solitary eyebrow lifting. With lips pursed Lana only gave him a moment's glance before he sighed, "And now comes the crux of the matter. You do not wish others to know of your return." Her eyes darted towards the door, the thought wandering through her head if Cullen told him. Turning back to face it, a curious smile knotted up the Inquisitor's lips. "No, he did not say anything. I dare say he's been so tightlipped on the matter people were growing concerned about his seemingly forced exile."

"Like his sister," Lana sighed, digging into her shoulder with her hand.

A momentary snicker lifted the Inquisitor's lips before falling back in place, "Among others, though that is a woman who is difficult to say no to."

"It's no wonder they're related."

"Yes, quite. His continual non-answer responses grew so strange even I felt the need to investigate myself. Everyone who met with Cullen here said he seemed well at ease, perhaps even calmer than expected, which only drew forth greater rumors of blood magic or other foul play at work."

Lana tried to not grimace at the mention of blood magic. All her life the damn rumors trailed her, that she used it to end the blight, to claim Amaranthine, to direct the king to do her bidding. And the more she denied being a blood mage, the more people suspected her of it. It was a no win situation the moment the rumors began.

Sliding forward in his seat, the Inquisitor prodded a finger into the desk. "I see now it was a different kind of magic that lightened our...how did Varric phrase it? Moody Commander?"

"Commander Sullen is what I've heard," Lana said.

"Oh, that's much better," the Inquisitor tipped back his head and a breath rattled in his nose. Scrunching up his face, he prodded at his eyes with a finger before reaching inside his coat to draw the stump free. Slowly he began to itch up and down the limb, reaching for a hand no longer there. Realizing he was scratching empty air, he paused and a light blush lit up his cheeks, but Lana didn't call attention to it. She'd done enough amputations and been around so many people who'd faced them that phantom pains were background for her.

"It takes it from us," she spoke, not meaning it to be aloud, "not always physically but the toll, the sacrifice, it's not just in time but blood, body, sanity, soul."

He paused and stared down at his stump, slowly twisting it around as if he was reaching out a hand no longer there. "People do not want to see it that way."

"They'd rather we be stone, perfect statues who, after saving the world, they can put away in storage until another crisis arrives. Ignore the cracks long enough and the entire foundation crumbles to dust."

"Indeed," he nodded, gently wrapping his stump back up to hide it away from curious onlookers. People were aware that in saving them the Inquisitor lost a hand, but few knew much less understood. "You tried to warn me of what would come after."

"Did I?" Lana asked, shaking her head. Skyhold felt decades ago; she barely remembered much beyond losing her wardens and finding Cullen. "I fear I was being morbidly poetic. It happens from time to time."

The Inquisitor smirked, "I see, but, whether you meant it as a general observation or fact, I did not wish to hear it."

"You had a world to save, that's not the time to worry about what comes after," she waved it away. They'd both failed, both succeeded. No one was perfect, certainly no heroes.

Smiling, he cupped his fingers under his chin and gently rubbed the clean skin. "I don't know how I missed it before. It seems so obvious in retrospect."

"What?"

"Your love for the Commander, and his became crystal clear after..." he paused, Adamant hanging on his tongue.

Lana winced, glaring at the desk covered in his writings. People would probably expect the constant soldier once templar to have atrocious writing in curt, blocky letters but in truth his flowed like a river. It wasn't proper calligraphy, and yet there was a gentleness in his hand that would surprise most. Running her finger over his dried words, she whispered, "Was it bad for him after?"

"Ah," the Inquisitor sat back in his chair blinking rapidly, "He is a very private man." Lana snorted at that and twisted her head back and forth - she was well aware. "And he seemed to prefer to bury his pain instead of admitting to it."

"It's as I feared," she sighed, shrinking further in. If she hadn't stayed behind, if she'd been smarter or faster then maybe, maybe she'd...

"I asked to speak with you not to uncover your secrets, or, Maker, return to our little battle for supremacy," the Inquisitor said.

"Pissing match of mythic legends was how Varric put it," Lana smiled.

"Of course he did," the Inquisitor shook his head, causing his braid to spill out of a hood. She didn't remember his hair being so long. "I need to offer to you my gratitude."

"No, it's..." Lana began, trying to wave it away, but the Inquisitor dove into something she began to suspect he'd prepared just in case.

"Many people have sacrificed themselves for me, in my name, for the cause itself. Too many," his head dropped a moment and those steel eyes weakened. "But you were the only one to make the choice, to give yourself when you had no good reason. You were not sworn to the cause and I gave you little reason to find me amenable. Yet, you stayed behind."

Lana shrugged, "You had to save the world, and I...I," she sighed, digging her fingers into her cheeks. A dozen different answers lurked in her brain for why she did it. To save Hawke. Because she'd already done the world saving once before. Because she'd been living on borrowed time anyway. All of them were valid, and yet none were right. "I did it because someone had to."

He laughed once at her simple answer, and his head dropped down to stare at the desk. "When I first received the anchor, Cassandra's and Leliana's intentions were to drag me to court and try me for the Divine's death. It seemed my only way out was in saving them from the breach, and in turn myself. There was a moment after, while the advisors were consumed with laying the bones for the Inquisition that I found myself alone, unwatched, staring out at the horizon. How easily I could have run, vanished into the forests as only a Dalish can, leaving the humans to pick up the pieces."

Pausing, he picked at a button upon his outfit bearing the eye of the Inquisition. Slowly, he turned it in the candlelight, watching it seeming to wink by the play of shadows. "I wondered to myself for months after why I never took that chance. Knowing what shemlan thought of my kind, and how they'd not only turn upon me if I failed, but all the other Dalish. Why did I stay? Why did I risk much? Why did I give them a chance?" Lifting his head, his eyes rolled through hers, "It is as you say. I did it because someone had to."

"We're not so much heroes as the custodians of thedas," Lana laughed. "No one else is going to pick up this trash, so I guess I will."

"And like the never praised street washer, we are the ones everyone turns to when the shit piles high upon the cobblestones."

She was shocked to hear the Inquisitor let fly a curse. Lana'd watched the Divine herself swear up a blue streak, even heard Cullen drop a few, but something in the careful and cautious turn of a man aware that every eye was always upon him letting himself swear in her presence lightened the mood. "We have to find our rewards where we can, our...hope to keep going," she said, nodding her head.

"True," he sighed, "and you have quite the prize there. We still receive interest in the Commander's hand, sometimes in the form of sonnets."

"Maker's breath, please don't tell me people show up to recite them," she gasped, tugging at her cheeks to try and hide the second hand embarrassment.

"A few," the Inquisitor admitted.

Shaking her head, Lana let a few chuckles escape before she smiled, "I am in more over my head than I ever imagined. And what of you, how is Dorian?"

She meant it to be light, but a cross look broke through the Inquisitor's set face. Shaking it off quickly, he threw on a small smile, "Well enough, in Tevinter."

"Oh, I didn't know..." she gasped, feeling the fool for wading in.

"He made his choice, and..." a crack of pain broke under the Inquisitor's armor, but he spackled over it fast, "and I cannot fault him for it. He is attempting to do what he must, what he thinks is right to make the world better."

Lana winced, thinking of Alistair and his choice. "You may not fault him, but you can still be angry that he made that decision, especially if it was without your input."

"That..." the Inquisitor paused and he sighed, "that is true. I take it by your response you had something similar occur?"

"What, you didn't get the rumors?" she said, shocked.

"I wasn't certain of their validity, many stories of the Hero of Ferelden seemed to be exaggerated."

"I can't imagine the ones of the Inquisitor are any less bombastic in nature," she chuckled, having overheard a few whispered between people she'd stumble behind. Elves in particular held him up as a beacon of hope, their own risen to heights unimaginable. Maker, if he'd died instead of losing his hand during the exalted council who knew what kind of rebellion that would have set off.

The Inquisitor traced a finger across the desk, scooting the vellum out of the way, "The tragic part is, the reality tends to trump the rumors in unbelievability tenfold."

"And yet no one will ever know," Lana said, leaning back with her arms crossed.

"Warden Commander," the Inquisitor sat up, his chin rising, "you need not concern yourself with anyone at Skyhold learning of your secret."

"I thank you for your prudence, but given the circumstances, perhaps you should call me Lana, Inquisitor."

A smile turned up his lips, and a soft flush curled up his icy pale cheeks. Nodding deeper he spoke, "Of course, and in return I ask that you refer to me as Gaerwn instead of my title."

"Gaerwn?" Lana repeated, realizing it was the first time she'd ever heard the Inquisitor's real name. But then, how many knew it was Solona who ended the blight, much less that she went by Lana? Heroes had titles not names.

He chuckled at her no doubt butchering tongue, "It is a very dalish name that tends to get caught up in human tongues, which is why most prefer to only use my title."

Lana rolled her eyes at that, "Most humans I meet can barely handle Solona. Gaerwn probably causes them to break out into a rash before leaping out a window."

"Yes, quite," he chuckled. "And unless you had something else, perhaps we should reconvene with the Commander before he wears a hole in the floor."

"Wouldn't be the first time," Lana mused to herself which earned another laugh from the Inq...Gaerwn. That was going to take some adjusting.

Hobbling to her feet, Lana cracked open the door. She no sooner got it open a few inches before Cullen's panicked head shot in, his eyes wide in fear. A thought flitted through her mind that she was grateful he'd never become a father because the anxiety was liable to kill him stone dead. Blushing from the implications, they hadn't talked about remaining intertwined for so long or what it would mean, Lana leaned back.

"Is it...are you...? Finished?" he gasped, glancing from the Inquisitor to the Warden Commander.

She couldn't stop a laugh at his panic. Placing her hand upon his cheek, Lana pulled him tight to her and whispered, "Yes, and you need not concern yourself. We wiped down most of the blood."

"And made certain the scars are not in easily viewed areas," Gaerwn said back, his wit dryer than Leliana's wine.

"That goes without saying," Lana nodded sagely. The panic didn't completely vanish from Cullen's eyes, but he calmed his twitching fingers and smiled at her.

"Glad to see you're both being considerate to the cleric I loaned this office from," Cullen said. She yearned to reach over and kiss him, but settled for squeezing his hand tight. When her thumb drifted over the back of it, Cullen's breathing returned to normal and a smile lifted up his lips.

"Well, I should leave you two to continue with Inquisition business," she said, sliding away.

"Actually, we, um, is there much to...?" Cullen glanced at the Inquisitor and then back to her.

Sighing, she closed her eyes and said, "Tell him the tale of your travels. And do whatever men do when left alone. Farting contests I assume."

"That, uh..." a tempting blush rose upon his cheeks as he glanced over at the Inquisitor who didn't blink from the mention of gas passing. "Lana, why did you come down to find me?"

"Oh, I nearly forgot," she dug into her front pocket and unearthed a letter. "I hoped you could get this in with the rest of your rotation."

Cullen accepted the envelope, "Is this bound for Kirkwall or," he swallowed and his voice imperceptibly grew rustier, "Denerim?"

"Antiva," she said, "and I'll explain why later. Good afternoon, Gaerwn," she said bobbing her head to the Inquisitor.

"And to you as well, Lana," he called out, waving from his spot.

Smiling, she turned to Cullen and gave in to her urges. Pecking softly upon his slack lips, she smiled, "I assume you'll be back in the apartment before nightfall."

"Uh, yes, probably...I think," he stuttered.

"I'll leave a candle lit for you," pulling her fingers away from him, she called to Honor and limped out of the door towards the staircase.

Behind her she heard Cullen gawping, "I can explain."

The Inquisitor laughed his solitary chuckle before speaking, "I certainly hope so, especially the parts with the King of Ferelden."


	18. Holy Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's Fanfiction appreciation day, so have a chapter I'd been planning on releasing tomorrow a day early!

Snow drifted from the heavens like shavings of parmesan cheese, languid curls plopping from the sneering maître d's grater as the land kept asking for more. Lana snickered at that thought, she must still be hungry despite a giving meal. For once she didn't sit on the divan, but twisted one of the gilded armchairs around to watch what looked like the stars themselves plummeting from the sky. Against the cloudy black background, each pinprick of snow illuminated itself brighter than usual. Two years since she'd last watched the tumbling flakes build to pristine drifts to devour the dingy world. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the continual reminder this wasn't the fade.

A gentle fire slumbered in the hearth, barely a flicker of orange light. She relied upon a fat candle dribbling wax near the nestle of holly wrapped around it in the spirit of the day. Smiling, Lana ran a finger over the greenery, its waxy edges wafting across her skin. She swaddled herself in a nightdress that on a normal person would come to their knees but for her nearly reached to her toes. Even then, she kept her feet and legs curled under her for warmth.

"Lana?"

Twisting in the chair, she spotted a shadow that sounded like Cullen stumbling from the bedroom. "Did I wake you?" she asked, her voice in a whisper despite no one else being in the apartment.

"No, I was..." he paused beside the candle highlighting his hair mashed skyward, the curls forming their own fortress from his sleep. Wearing only a pair of soft tan breeches, she watched the flames flicker shadows across his pale skin, deepening the lines of his muscles. "Are you all right? Was there a bad dream?"

Smiling, she twisted further in the chair to gaze up at him. "No. I could not sleep, but it had nothing to do with the fade." He paused beside her chair and clung fingers tight to the high back. Reaching out, she caressed his side, digging into his hip. "I wanted to watch the snow."

Chuckling, he turned his own amber gaze out the window. No one stirred in the streets, the solitary night when all of Val Royeaux found lodgings. Soon the Grand Cathedral would be full to bursting with all the citizens coming to worship and celebrate, but for now it slumbered on silently watching over the empty streets hushed by a blanket of snow. "It is lovely," Cullen mused.

Leaning forward, Lana traced her fingers across the window pane. Dipping into the fade she drew forth the ice that clung tightly to her soul and, with slow movements, traced a pattern onto the glass. A snowflake took form below her finger, the edges jagged from the crystals that created it. Proud of her work, she said, "I used to do this every winter. We'd challenge each other to draw more and more elaborate things with ice but snowflakes were my favorite."

Sensing eyes upon her, she glanced up into Cullen covering her in what could only be described as a loving gaze. His amber eyes glittered by the candlelight while he stared at her as if she'd just performed a complicated spell that saved the empress' life instead of etching a drawing on the window. How could one man heap so much praise upon her without saying a word? She felt a blush digging into the base of her skull from the idea, and as a distraction, Lana grabbed onto his hand.

"Sit with me?"

"Gladly," he said, his eyes darting around the room to find the other gilded chair far on the other side. "Hm, I have a better idea." Scooping his hands under her thighs, Cullen lifted her up into the air in his arms. She felt an urge to laugh and insist that he was being silly, but so much of his skin touched hers. Instead, she snuggled her cheeks against his chest, her hands wrapping around his neck to hold her safe. After he pecked a kiss upon her hair, Cullen eased over and sat into the chair with Lana in his lap.

"Now I can't see the snow," she pouted, her eyes locked upon his handsome face. By the soft glow of the moon he looked scrubbed clean, the frown lines smoothed away and, for once, he'd even tamed his stubble - though she objected to the latter.

"Shall I describe it to you?" he said seriously, before an eye darted down to her followed by a whisper smile.

Giggling, she lifted herself higher by her arms and sighed, "Let me guess, white stuff continues to fall in flakes and sometimes clumps."

"On occasion there are even specks, though they're harder to see at this distance."

Unable to help herself, Lana nuzzled her cheek against his neck, a warmth enveloping more than just her body. It wrapped up her heart. She felt as if she could lay there all night listening to him describe the snow in his husky voice. Tipping his chin down, Lana raised up, her lips aiming for his. Cullen caught on to what she wanted and he helped to lift her higher. No stubble prodded into her top lip and she took advantage of it by sliding her mouth higher, letting him nibble upon her bottom one with the tips of his teeth. Cupping his cheek, she was about to tangle her tongue into his mouth when a hundred voices rang out from below them. Those were joined by more scattered throughout the Grand Cathedral, each one singing in an enchanting harmony until the song spilled out into the streets reaching beyond the borders of Val Royeaux, even Orlais to encompass all of thedas.

With her lips beside his cheek, Lana whispered, "I guess that means it's midnight. Happy Satinalia, Cullen."

"Happy Satinalia, Lana." Tomorrow there would be feasts, dancing, wine in greater quantities than seemed imaginable, more dancing, dressing up the prettiest couple in ribbons, dancing due to all the wine, and somewhere in there honoring Andraste, if they had time. It was certain to be a grand holiday for everyone, and Maker knew Val Royeaux knew how to celebrate when given ample opportunity. She was looking forward to seeing what putting out all the stops meant in Orlais, a country already known for its debauchery, but right now with the calm of the snow and the warmth of his arms this was the best Satinalia she could imagine.

"What is it?" she scoffed, watching his eyes wander away with a thousand thoughts.

"I...no, it's silly," he shook it away. She reached up, prepared to kiss the answer out of him, but he changed tactics, "How busy do you think tomorrow will be?"

"Today you mean?" she asked, earning a soft eye roll for her pedantry. "Very much so, Leliana's already planned me an out if it seems her 'mistress' can't handle all the excitement." Cullen grumbled at the mistress part. She wondered if it was more because he hated the fact it was a lie than people under the delusion she and Leliana were a couple. Then again, it was preferable to everyone trying to drag her off for claiming what seemed to be the most eligible bachelor in all of thedas.

"I imagine Val Royeaux knows no bounds for celebrating," Cullen sighed.

"Had you been here for Satinalia before, for the Inquisition?"

"No," he shook his head, "we always had it in Skyhold. Josephine could work miracles armed with only a spool of thread and boughs cut from an evergreen if she needed to."

Lana smiled and nodded her head, "I remember in the tower, we'd sit up all night on our beds. It was the only time the templars let us get away with it. And we'd string berries along thread to then hang up for the whole day. Inevitably, someone would be dared to try and eat them and he'd do it to disastrous results." She laughed from the memory of one apprentice turning a delightful shade of green after he made it through the fifth string.

"Templars would..." Cullen paused and he dug his forehead into the top of her head. After breathing in her scent for a moment and curling his fingers tighter around her stomach he continued, "we'd have services in the morning."

"Mages too," she interrupted.

"Right, of course. And...no," he paused, shaking his head, "I'm remembering Kirkwall and how we'd always spend the day with an eye upon the minimal mage celebrations. In Kinloch, it was...more relaxed."

She nodded her head, remembering the suits of armor standing not at attention around the doors but flitting through the clusters of robes, everyone holding a glass to toast whenever anyone called for it. "Were you there when a senior enchanter, more than likely drunk off her ass, kissed the Knight-Commander?"

"No," Cullen shook his head, his eyes widening in shock, "I'd remember that one."

"Oh, Maker, yes. The room went deathly still after, every mage and templar staring at each other uncertain what to do, when the Knight-Commander stands up and cries 'Happy Satinalia, everyone!'"

"Gregoir did that?" Cullen scoffed, shaking his head.

"Ah, right, that was the woman before Gregoir. I forgot, I was only thirteen at the time, so..."

He shifted his lap, twisting her so he could look down at her face. Caressing a cheek, Cullen sighed, "Do you ever miss it?"

"Sometimes," she admitted. "Holidays I think about the tower, the traditions we had all our own, or when I stumble across someone I once knew in there. It's...it was where I grew up, and now it's been left to rot unattended into the lake. Feels strange to think the circles are no more. No more padding past the library barefoot because a single squeak of a shoe will set off the librarian. No wrapping towels on your hands and knees and crawling over the floor to scrub it. No..." her reminiscing faded away on the crisp winds, far too many 'nos' to list.

"I remember the first Satinalia when I was transferred to Kinloch."

"Oh?"

"You wore a gown of gold that sparkled whenever you twirled, which you seemed to do often. No shoes, but there was a string of berries tied across your chest and holly wrapped around your..." Cullen closed his eyes and thought before speaking, "right wrist."

Lana glanced over at her gaunt wrist when he enveloped it in his warm hand and twisted his fingers around her like a bracelet. Sighing, she laid her head back against him and fell into the memory. "I had been learning transmutation of metals, but could only do it in small, thin layers. So, I wound up taping sheafs of gold coated vellum to my robes. It was hilariously awful to look upon."

"I thought you glowed like a holy beacon," Cullen whispered beside her.

Unable to shake off the blush, she gulped deeper in her chest. "I remember a templar, uncertain about what was going on, taking up patrol beside the punch bowl with the sweetest honey eyes I'd ever seen," she reached up and ran her palm across his cheek before curling into his hair, fluffing up the matted curls.

"My previous Satinalias were either starkly religious in the abbey or, the ones at the farm. Simple but comforting. Wandering into a good two hundred mages laughing, dancing, and singing was a bit of a shock."

"I bet," Lana nodded.

"But, it was fun. I remember there was this one templar who placed a cauldron upon his head without realizing it was full of some green liquid which washed all down his uniform..." Cullen's sweet smile folded in on itself. He hunkered lower to his chest and pulled Lana with, drawing strength from her. "He died in the tower, during..."

"For so many years I didn't want to remember them, any of them, because it hurt too much to," Lana said, her fingers skirting along his curls. Nodding, Cullen buried his mouth against her shoulder. "Time smoothed the wound over but it never really healed. It was my home, my family, all gone in a matter of days. Everything I'd known since I was a child. I'd..." her voice cracked, and she patted her cheeks to find a few tears upon them. "Sorry. You know it as well as I do."

"So many of the same hurts," grumbled out of his chest, his arms locked tighter around her.

"What," she shifted in his lap trying to pull his face to hers, "what was something you loved most about Satinalia? As a child."

His warm breath blew across her shoulders, each gust followed by a count as Cullen pulled himself back from the dark edge. Squeezing tight to her one last time to gather strength, he lifted his head and said, "The puppets."

"The puppets?" she scoffed, shocked to find he was the kind of person to enjoy anything so frivolous. "Wait, there are puppets?"

Cullen chuckled, "In my family there were, probably still are. My father, he loved carving them, taking the whole year to make a new one to join the growing horde. The first few were simple, their mouths could open and their legs or arms would twitch up and down upon the strings. But each year he came up with something better, more intricate. There was this mabari named...what did Mia call it? Sprinkles? Its tail moved with a flick of my father's wrist. He'd dangle out the puppet upon a stage placed in front of the hearth and all four of us would call out whatever it was thinking or saying, spending the whole day creating our own stories."

"That's wonderful," Lana smiled, swept up in the happy family vision he painted of a warm fire illuminating the farmhouse while all four Rutherford children shouted out orders and dreams for little, wooden people.

"It, uh, sounds sillier now that I say it aloud," Cullen said, an embarrassed flush working its way up his cheeks.

"What? No it doesn't. I wish I could see it in action," Lana interrupted his embarrassment, her fingers caressing his smooth cheek.

"Well, I'm certain Mia's kept the whole bunch and...there's always next year." A hopeful wish hung in his sentence, Cullen's amber eyes pleading with hers.

"Yes, there is," Lana agreed, and he sighed in relief. Scooping her close, Cullen's wholesome kiss curled through her stomach leaving her soul smiling.

"What about you?" he asked, whispering against her cheek.

"I don't remember ever being around puppets," she said, earning a glower.

"Your favorite Satinalia memory as a child," Cullen growled getting a laugh from Lana. She adored the way his voice dropped whenever he was annoyed.

After running her fingers over his scar which parted from its sneer into a gentle smile, she leaned back against him and thought. "I don't remember much of my family in the Free Marches. We'd do most of the same things done in the tower as everyone does for Satinalia, but..." twisting around in his lap, Lana gazed out at the snow rising in drifts along the street. Clumps clung against the window panes, slowly suffocating the stained glass Saint praying upon her ancient knees. "My mother used to make this dessert every year. It was thin sheets of dough layered on top of each other in numerous stratums. She'd often drizzle honey over it or a jam put away from summer for my brother and I. For the adults, they got the sweetened liquor we weren't supposed to know about."

"That's a Free Marcher dish?" Cullen asked.

"No, it's Rivainian. Her grandmother's recipe. I didn't realize that it wasn't Marcher until I started asking around figuring Amaranthine was so close to Kirkwall something would have had to slip over. But everyone always gave me a strange look whenever I described it. I never would have considered it had a different origin because everything else I remember was strictly Marcher. There were these green nuts embedded in the center."

"Green nuts?" he scoffed, clear disgust at the idea.

"They're very tasty, and a bright grass green I remember."

"If you say so..." he began, but Lana interrupted.

"It's not as if they're moldy almonds or something. I bet you'd like it if you tried it. Not too sweet for the sour Commander," she mocked, folding her arms across her chest.

Laughing at her summation, he pressed his lips close to her ear and asked, "What was this dessert called?"

"No idea. I was too young to know, especially if my mother referred to it in the Rivani tongue. Anyone I ask now either only has a vague recollection of having eaten it before, or gives me that same sour look as you did."

"Sorry," he said, pulling her even tighter to him.

Not needing an apology, Lana rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. "It's a strange magic the hold food has over our memories. I can still remember the crackling sound the dough made from a spoon jamming through it, green nuts spilling out." Smiling from the cozy kitchen of her childhood when she couldn't reach any counters without hauling open a drawer and standing in it, Lana drifted back to those sections of her memory she kept walled off. Cullen fell silent behind her, his fingers rolling up and down her arms in what she knew was his method of thinking.

"Don't you dare," she said.

"Hm?" he startled out of his inner thoughts, shaking it all away.

"I know what you're thinking, you're going to spend all of tomorrow trouncing through every bakery in Val Royeaux trying to find someone who has a clue what I'm talking about."

"There wasn't any..." his attempt at a lie died as she glowered, her reflection bouncing against the dark panes of glass to him. "Wouldn't it be nice?" he tried again.

"No," Lana shook her head, "I don't want to spend all of tomorrow alone waiting for you to trudge back through the snow more than likely cranky and exhausted."

Picking up his hands and holding them tight to her stomach, Lana tipped her head back against his chest and gazed up. Cullen stared out through the window with an indecipherable expression scratched upon his face. Sliding along his smooth jaw, she walked her fingers across his cheek until they dug into his hollow. "I want to wake tomorrow with you wrapped around me, have the biggest breakfast the chantry has ever spread out, curl up in a warm chair while you and Honor take your morning constitutional, and when you return we spend the rest of the day in the balcony listening to the chorals reverberating from every bowed head...while holding hands. That's how I want to spend my first Satinalia with you."

A smile lifted up his cheeks, and Cullen dipped his chin, those warm honey eyes beaming into hers. "It sounds perfect," he sighed. Straining, she tugged on the back of his head for a pert kiss, but Cullen answered with his own sugared response. After slipping away, Lana bumped her nose next to his and sighed. Two years, no, three since she'd done anything to celebrate Satinalia. While dancing and carousing were the norm, all she yearned for was being next to him.

Slowly she spun around while Cullen locked his hands tight across her stomach. He buried his chin upon her shoulder, scrunching up to watch the play of snow slowly trickle to an end. "It seems as if the show has stopped," he said.

"I suppose so," Lana sighed, wishing it'd lasted just a bit longer.

"You know waking in my arms generally requires one heading to sleep first."

"Details, details," she tried to wave it away as if she could stay up for hours watching the twinkling powdered snow crest along the empty streets. Behind her Cullen sighed, sleep catching up quickly with him. While Lana could fight it off with every breath, he seemed to succumb the moment it was suggested.

She was about to give in, when a tuft of clouds parted in the sky and a shaft of moonlight lanced through the window to land upon them. Her skin illuminated as if a candle glowed from within, giving rise to intricate lines in a lace-like pattern up the side of her face, dipping down her throat and across her birthmark. Cullen turned towards it and started, "You have the Moon glow markings?"

Shrugging, she turned to him, "I hadn't had them done since I was a teenager. It seemed like fun." Formed from a special ink that upon drying clung invisible to the skin, they could only be revealed by moonlight thanks in part to some enchanting. The spell was easy enough most mage children could manage, it was brewing up the ink that proved more challenging.

"They're..." Cullen drew his fingers across her cheek, trying to trace the delicate pattern without smudging it. "When did you get them done?"

"When last we were in the market area. There were stalls all over the place."

"But, it must have taken forever to draw such a delicate pattern, how did you find time?"

She tried to not roll her eyes, "You were haggling and getting into it with some merchant about something. I figured I'd be able to sit for a good half hour before you'd notice. Turned out I was right."

Laughing through his small shame, Cullen turned her in his lap to look fully upon the right side of her face lit up. Against her darker skin, the moon glow bore a far more impressive appearance than to the paler flesh, as if she sparkled from within. "Maker's breath, but you're beautiful," he sighed, catching her lips in a succulent kiss. Breaking away, his eyes lingered down her glittering throat towards the birthmark. She had the inker trace the thin lines and dots across her natural mark, highlighting its swoops and swirls.

Cullen's fingers drifted towards it before he paused and gulped, "How far, um, down do they go?"

Impishly, Lana lifted an eyebrow and asked, "Would you like to find out?"

"More than anything in thedas," he moaned, tugging her tighter to him as they kissed with a rising heat. Scooping her up in his arms, Cullen staggered out of the chair.

He began to drop her feet to the floor, but she shook her head. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Lana didn't want to abandon his tempting lips. Struggling to get through the room while she kissed him, Cullen paused at the door to the bedroom. Before he walked inside to begin the far more fun festivities, he butted his forehead against hers and whispered, "Lana, this is the best Satinalia in my life."

Scooping her fingers along his cheeks, she kissed him once more. "Mine too."


	19. Charm

Dropping his hand under the table, Cullen banged his knuckles against the support leg before glancing fingers across his intended target. Reinforcing his grip, he circled around Lana's fingers that'd been upon her knee. She didn't turn away from watching a few street jugglers ply their trade, but a blush rose up her cheeks as she returned his caress.

More than aware that he was acting like a love addled young man while wearing a cheesy grin from holding a beautiful woman's hand, Cullen couldn't scrounge up the ability to care. On occasion a few eyes turned in their direction, all of them landing upon the Commander...no, the ex-Commander of the Inquisition. He'd look up to ascertain if it was anyone he'd know but that only seemed to encourage more gawking and, on occasion, some attempting to strike up a conversation.

After dismissing the last hanger-on with a "Madam, please, I am with someone and have no interest in any of your children, grandchildren, or great grandchildren!" they'd been left alone.Lana remained quiet through it, her leg crossed at the knee while she picked at the wool scarf tied around her neck. It was done in the colors of blue and silver, a fact that alarmed Cullen when she appeared with it, but Lana waved him off. They were the colors of the year and much of Val Royeaux was wearing them. She'd blend in perfectly.

It seemed strange to have the open air patio in use, with snow from the Satinalia blizzard still clinging in drifts piled up against walls and a chill wafting on the breeze, but Orlesians never made any damn sense. Honor slumbered at his feet after a rousing day of chasing after a few children who managed to snag the mabari's ball and thought they could escape with it. It was the perfect winter afternoon with nowhere to go and nothing to do.

"Does that happen often?" Lana asked, turning to face him. The gap of her face that was visible between wool scarf and fluffy hat bore the red haze of cold that only winter could bring, but she smiled and shook off any of his suggestions to head inside. Lana lived for the outdoors any chance she had.

Giving his hand another squeeze, she elaborated, "Women approaching you and offering you up to daughters or granddaughters?"

"No," Cullen groaned, wishing Orlais would keep its knotted nose out of his business. "At least, not on the regular."

"Oh no, you can't deflect that. You have to tell me now," Lana perked up, adjusting herself in her chair. They weren't the most comfortable seats in Val Royeaux, and by the winter's chill the wrought iron burned a cold up through his pants. He wished he'd put on the pair of long johns Lana suggested.

Cullen tried to stall for time, his eyes trailing around the courtyard filled with the remnants of a happy Satinalia. Scraps of bunting hung off the drying evergreen boughs on their way to being everbrown. But what demanded their attention were the jugglers, huskers, and -- Maker help him -- mimes working the crowds. Drained people moved through Val Royeaux on their way to return home after the celebration and the street hustlers knew that was when to strike.

"Was it during your time in Skyhold? Kirkwall?" she adjusted herself in her seat. "I can keep guessing all day, you know."

"Very well," he sighed, accepting defeat, "it was in Rivain."

"When you were...? Oh," she sagged down a bit but Cullen tugged her tighter to him by their conjoined hands.

"It was quite possibly the most embarrassing moment to have happen."

"Why?" Lana chuckled, "It's not as if Alistair was... Oh, dear," she patted her cheeks at his sneer, the one she claimed he wore special whenever the king was mentioned.

"He was purchasing some trinkets for his Queen," Cullen said. Lana merely nodded along as if she was aware of that arrangement and didn't care. "...when the woman at the shop asked if she could _purchase_ me for her daughter or granddaughter. I wasn't entirely clear on the conversation." Lana tipped her head down, staring at the table while Cullen continued. "In truth, if it weren't for the king's interceding I'm uncertain what I'd have done. I...I do not speak Rivaini."

"Be more surprising if you did. It's a difficult language to master," she said. Her head remained hanging down as if she found the table fascinating, but he heard a snicker in her voice.

"I see," Cullen mused, wondering how a man as simple as Alistair could manage that. "He made some bold exaggerations of whatever malady in body or charm turned me unacceptable and, after she cast their warding eye at me, I was free to continue on." Waving his hand across the table, and nearly elbowing over the empty mug, Cullen sighed, "There, now you know the entire humiliating moment."

Lana nodded her head solemnly, her fingers reaching over to pat his softly in compassion, when a snort reverberated in her nose. Trying to not glare, Cullen watched her snort once again. Unable to hold it back, the laughter tumbled free. Lana's head whipped up and she leaned back in the chair, trying to pin her hands against her face as she laughed so hard her shoulders vibrated. It was so damn infectious, even Cullen felt a tug despite the laughter being at his expense.

As she managed to compose herself, Lana wiped a tear from her eye, "I'm sorry, I...I don't mean to laugh, but you don't know. Maker, I doubt Alistair did either. And it's..." She succumb to the laughter again, doubling over so quickly her forehead skimmed above the surface of the table.

"Don't know what?" Cullen tried to not sulk, but judging by her face he'd either dodged a hail of arrows or was about to be stuck in the back.

Cupping a hand to her mouth, Lana sat up. Breathing deep, she began to explain, "In Rivain, they have a celebration. An old one from before Andraste's time. It used to honor Uthemrial, which is why I know of it. Kill an old god and suddenly one becomes interested in everything in their past. Sorry, not helping. The woman, she wasn't trying to buy you precisely. Not as a husband by any means. It was more she wanted to, um," Lana tented her fingers, "compensate you for your eventual time and..." a snort burnt in her nose before she could continue, "effort."

"Effort in what?"

"Ah, this is the um, difficult part. The ceremony, well, it's more a celebration not unlike Satinalia but back at its roots. Less calm, orderly standing in a chantry singing songs, more...uh, carnal delights."

"Carnal...? Oh Maker," he groaned folding into his hands.

"It is an interesting one to behold, and they rarely let people from outside the country become involved in it. You should be proud," she said, reaching over to pat his hand.

Cullen's eye darted up to hers and he growled. That only caused her to laugh harder, clearly enjoying the fact that someone in Rivain attempted to buy him for his...prowess. "I do not think I shall lose this burr of embarrassment until I am sixty five," Cullen muttered into his hands.

"It's a real badge of honor, or so I hear," she took it all as flippant with a shrug of the shoulder.

"It is bothersome. No, beyond that, to have people pecking and clawing for my attention as if I'm some, some gilded bauble to throw around their neck," he grumbled.

Her hand paused in patting, and in a soft voice Lana asked, "You never took advantage of all that attention?"

"What?" Cullen dropped his hands to look up at her, "No, of course not. Why would I?"

She lifted a shoulder and gazed out at the procession of people moving sullenly through the snowy streets of Val Royeaux. "It wasn't as if you didn't have a good reason to want to, and, judging by what I keep overhearing, had more than ample opportunity to explore."

"Lana."

"I wouldn't hold it against you, I promise. I mean, Maker knows I have my own..." she waved her hands towards the east, "past."

Leaning forward, Cullen grabbed onto her washy hand and pinned it tight in his. It felt frozen solid next to his skin. _Maker, did she ever warm up?_ Rubbing his body heat into it, Cullen sighed, "There was no one else, not between the years of Kirkwall and Skyhold, nor after you..." He swallowed, still unable to say the words. Fell felt too flippant for the sorrow he was trapped under, while died drove a nail through his heart. "I was not of the right mind to want to look. As if anyone could measure up," he tried to flip it into a compliment, but Lana's frown deepened. Did she not believe him? Cupping her cheek, he said, "That should put you at ease."

"No, it..." she crinkled her nose, "I don't know. I, I hate the idea that you were alone for so long. In pain, and because of me, unable to-to find someone else. And at the same time, I'm so glad that another woman didn't swipe you away. Given the way everyone keeps talking, your reputation grew in the years and it was already on the rise when I was in Skyhold."

She looked up at him, her melting brown eyes pleading for her words to make sense. Brushing his fingers back against her cheek, Cullen ran his thumb through the indent of her slowly fading scar. Lana cupped his hand tight to her skin and he felt a smile lift it high. Her ornery eyes darted up. "From the rumors, a part of me keeps expecting some woman to show up insisting you're the father of her child."

At that Cullen laughed and shook his head, "It's preposterous to consider it being fact, but that could still happen."

"Oh?"

"A few have tried, but far more over the years claimed the Inquisitor as the father of their baby. One even showed up on Skyhold's door."

"Inquisitor Gaerwn?" Lana asked, her face falling in shock, "Do they not know he's...how would that even work?"

Cullen parted his hands, "Miracle of Andraste herself."

Snorting, Lana covered her face, the joy brightening her cheeks. Maker's breath she was beautiful. He barely got any sleep before Satinalia with her resting in his arms, the light glowing off her skin and casting her tender features in a warm haze. While she murmured in her sleep, Cullen would dart a finger through her short hair, the tips skirting along her dewy skin trying to memorize each inch. Every time he touched her he couldn't stop his mind from trying to imprint the moment deep onto his memory for fear that...that it'd be the last.

"Cullen," Lana spoke, drawing him from staring slack-jawed at her.

"Yes?"

"How do you feel now that you're no longer with the Inquisition?"

"Lana," he shook his head, "I'm happy to be..."

"I know, I know," she smiled, no pain in her face. The easy smile drained his own perturbations, their first fight feeling like it occurred ages ago. "But it's a change, and changes take time to adjust to." She scoffed for a moment and glanced down at her frozen tea, "I still do things as if I'm in the Circle tower. Ever wonder why I'm always asking for permission?"

"I..." he shook his head, realizing that it hadn't fazed him because it, in turn, was second nature for the templar to be asked by the mage. That thought sunk deep into his chest.

"This isn't about me," she broke off her line of thinking, "Honest and true, good and bad, how are you feeling?"

He couldn't get out of it now. That was what he'd ask her when she'd start from a nightmare or face her personal demons. She'd hesitate, not wanting to worry him, but eventually her confession would slip out. He was working on not rushing to solve it each time.

"You're right, it feels...strange. To have no one to answer to, no one to command me, no one in turn to be commanded by me. An endless void can be terrifying," he gazed around the courtyard. Normally it was a palette of primary colors, but by the grey winter weather it looked stark and drained of life.

Lana tugged onto both of his hands, her thumbs rubbing the back, "Not if you find something to fill it."

"You have some ideas on that?" he asked with a smirk, but in truth, he hoped for an answer.

She tipped her head back and forth, "I'm working on it."

"Does that mean you have no intentions upon filling me in?"

"We'll see, it depends on how things go," Lana said while reaching for her no doubt cold tea. An impish smile began to crawl up her cheeks and Cullen couldn't help himself. Despite the public place, the nearness of the Grand Cathedral casting its religious shadow, and a dozen people glancing curious in their direction, he tugged on Lana's hand. Her teacup rattled, sloshing the cold brew across the table, but he didn't care. Cupping a hand against her jaw, he leaned forward and kissed her fully. She tipped her chin to line her lips up, that round nose of hers burrowing into his cheek while she pressed ever tighter to him.

As they broke apart, more than a few obvious glares directed their way. Cullen tried to ignore them while staring deep into her eyes, but when the coughing began he sighed and backed down to his seat. Smiling even brighter, Lana's cheeks lit up in a different kind of rosy glow. Whispering, she pointed a hidden finger at the rest of the patio, "Methinks they're a bit jealous."

"I..." Cullen blushed now, the faux pas sinking in, "I couldn't help myself. You're so, you know."

"I have a vague recollection," she smiled at his floundering before her voice dropped lower, "but I do enjoy hearing it reenforced from time to time."

He began to reach over the table to cup both of her hands in his when an elf dressed in black stepped up to the table behind Lana. "And what are we having over here today?" His voice bore a strange accent out of place amongst the nasally Orlesians, and upon closer inspection Cullen realized that he wasn't dressed in the standard black waiter wear but had on hearty leathers buried below a wool cloak.

"Nothing," Cullen said, waving his hand and hoping the man would get the hint.

"Ah, of course. And what of you Lania, is there any room in your diet for a crow?"

Lana's eyes lit up and she spun in her chair. "Maker's breath!" she shouted loud enough for the plaza to hear, "What are you doing here?"

The man smiled, his eyes only upon her. Perhaps it was Cullen's imagination, but he leaned nearer towards Lana, just within her personal space to make it intimate but not close enough to be off putting. "Where the wind blows so go I, you know how it is. Got to keep busy or I fear I'll grow moss upon my joints. But imagine my surprise to learn that the bella donna of my dreams pulled off the unimaginable once again, stepped across the veil itself, defeated death, and wound up in Val Royeaux of all places."

When he reached out and took Lana's hand, she shook her head and sighed in that "oh you" variety. For fear the blonde man intended to kiss her hand, Cullen sat up, "Excuse me. Who are you?"

His vast elven eyes darted away from the unkissed hand to Cullen who was trying very hard to maintain his dignity and balance. "I could ask the same of you. Oh, Lania, do not tell me you and he...?" Lana shrugged. "Fair haired. Sturdy," he assessed Cullen with a quick once over. "Another templar?" Now she bobbed her head, and guiltily glanced away. Sighing, the elf tipped his head back, "Ovviamente. You always did find your fun hidden within the chantry's rather strapping arm."

"Maker's sake," Cullen smacked his hand against the table, "who are you?"

"Ah, sorry," Lana blushed bright, "This is Zevran."

"Zev to my friends," he said, extending a hand to Cullen who didn't take it. "Which, I see where we stand on that fact. Very well." He retreated the proffered hand back to cross his arms instead.

Lana rolled her eyes, and scooted closer, "He fought with us during the blight. He's my contact in Antiva, the one I sent the letter to..." She pivoted in her chair to gaze up at the cocksure elf, "which should not have even arrived there for another month."

Parting his hands the elf beamed wider, "I am wintering in Val Royeaux this season. It's provided me with ample opportunity to keep my rather delicate ears to the ground." Cullen snorted at that non-answer. "You do not agree, templar?"

"Why does everyone keep calling me templar?"

"If the rather fetching skirt fits..." the elf taunted, inching closer to him.

"For the love of Andraste," Lana waved a hand between them. "Zev, focus please. How did you get your fingers on the letter that was supposed to be secretly mailed?"

"You know I have my tricky little ways, bella donna," he oozed. That was it, he had not just a voice or physicality that oozed, his entire charm was built upon rolling over its intended victim and slowly suffocating it to death. It was blighted Dorian all over again. "Imagine my surprise to open up this quaint little letter, with perfect penmanship I might add, and discover that my oldest and dearest friend is yet alive. Not only alive but in Val Royeaux where I happen to be staying. I simply had to try and track you down."

Lana's smile faltered and Cullen felt a surge of hope that this wasn't going to be another case of someone from her past who wound up intertwined in their lives. _Maker, she didn't sleep with him too, did she?_ Her eyes darted around and then she leaned closer to Zevran. "Did you now?"

"It seemed prudent given the current climate," Zevran extended his hand to the rather calm weather. "The deadliest storm is the one you don't see coming. And I wouldn't want my Lania to be caught ill prepared for when it breaks. Oh, I see you're wearing that scarf Leliana found for you."

"Zev..." Lana's voice dropped down to a growl and she eyed him up.

"Yes yes, we must all praise the Divine's enchanted eye when it comes to fabric, but I never thought blue was your color," his eyes languidly rolled around the room looking like a man without a care while Lana froze up, her shoulders tight.

"What's going on?" she asked in a whisper.

"Now is not the time," he said, making dead set eye contact with her. Then, as if it was all on accident, the elf leaped back to his feet and all but twirled in a circle. "There's still much shopping to be done. It's a near on steal to hit the shops after Satinalia."

"Understood," Lana bobbed her head. Her voice lifted to a conversational tone, "But I would still love to get caught up with you. It's been far too long."

"A lifetime, bella donna," he murmured, a cloud crossing his sunny brow. "Here," reaching into his coat, he pressed a scrap of paper into Lana's hand, "Meet me at my stately manor in a few hours. You'll find the address upon the card, in case you've forgotten it."

"Ah, yes, thank you," Lana studied the address as if it was a life saving spell.

"Lania," the elf stopped dancing and dropped to a knee as if he intended to propose to her. Instead, he only smiled, "it's been heart warming to find you here," his eyes darted over to Cullen once before turning fully upon her, "to some extent. Please, we must speak again."

"Of course, Zev. Soon," she smiled. Rising up, the elf bowed deeply before standing. Marching as if he hadn't a care in the world, he plucked a rose out of a vase on a table, inserted it into the buttonhole of his leathers and slipped away down the alley. Lana watched him from the side of her eye, her smile vanished.

"Well, that was..." Cullen began, before Lana extended her palm flat and fire burst upon the paper. Blackening from the flames, it curled inward as the heat increased until ash scattered on the wind. "What are you doing?" he tried to not shout, even as his eyes darted out to the other guests who'd no doubt notice a woman with her hand on fire.

Lana closed her fist, dampening the fire and stitching up the veil. Turning her hand down, only specks of white ash dropped from her palm across the table. "Making certain no one can follow us."

"What? Lana, that's..." he wanted to say foolish but the look in her eye paused his words. Any sense of calm vanished from Lana's face; the woman enjoying a trip through Val Royeaux was replaced by a person on the edge, expecting a knife from the shadows at any moment. "No," Cullen shook his head, no one knew about her. She was in no danger. Except the elf found out, and not from her letter to him. But still...

"We should finish our drinks and then go. Taking the long way to loop back around will make it rather obvious if we're being trailed. How's Honor's tracking skills?"

"Fine, for a mabari, when there's not food left on the ground." Cullen shook his head, "Lana, you're...I don't understand. The elf--"

"Zev."

"Whatever," he groaned, which brought a soft chuckle to her face, "what's so important we have to meet him now?"

"He was agitated, clearly under duress and concerned about eyes upon him, perhaps upon both of us." Lana snatched up her cup and in one quick breath, slid her frozen tea down her throat.

"How can you tell?" Cullen shook his head. None of this made any sense.

"Because," Lana wiped the edge of her mouth off, kicked her cane into her hands and rose, "he didn't hit on you."

 

* * *

 

She made certain to memorize the address, 42B Rue des Oubliés, before burning the paper and thought that with her borrowed map of Val Royeaux it would be easy to find. That was proving a mistake as the three of them turned down the neighborhood that should have claimed the street and came face to face with one of many dilapidated areas in the capital city of Orlais. No signs existed, and the only markings for buildings came in the form of chalk marks etched along boarded up windows and rusted out barrels. They passed a few people, but Lana didn't want to ask them for fear that it'd be a give away to her either not belonging or worse, turning someone on Zev's hiding place.

Of course, Cullen was in no mood for any of it. "This is pointless," he complained in a continual stream from behind her. Lana kept a grip upon Honor who helped her stay up through the long walks of the city under the illusion of killing time. "You're better off finding a specific snowflake in a blizzard than a street in Val Royeaux. Orlesians favorite pastime is blanking out all their signs and guffawing at the dumb dog lord for not knowing where Rude es Criouche is."

She tried to slap a hand over her mouth to keep from chuckling, but was too slow. Cullen glared at her and she could offer no explanation. "I'm sorry, but you're rather adorable when you stew."

"Wonderful, I'm being adorable while I freeze to death in the decaying ruins of the no doubt plague ridden streets of Orlais. And Maker only knows how you're still going."

"Magic, and..." Lana paused and swiveled on her legs to look back at him. He was his own level of disheveled, his cheeks pink from the cold and the scarf that should have been knotted tight around his neck dangling towards the blackened snow. "Come here," she waved him near and waited. Sheepishly, he stepped closer. While Lana retied his scarf, winding it tighter to protect his fair features from the blinding snow, she felt his breath washing over her, hot and wet like a bull about to charge. "Zev's a friend, and if he's in any trouble..."

"Or about to put you in trouble," Cullen groaned, but the edge of his whine washed away. As her fingers drifted away from him, he reached out and snatched them up. Lana glanced at them, then his eyes which stared through the horizon. She knew that look, something was bothering him. "Lana, you'd tell me if, I'm only wondering how you and...the, um, you know."

She sighed, "It's rather cold out and I'd like to get inside soon, so please, spit it out."

"Were you and the elf, Zevran...close?"

"Close?" she wrinkled up her nose before it hit her. "Oh, you mean, have we ever...?"

"Please, do not elaborate," Cullen's throat bobbed as he swallowed in pain. She shouldn't be picking at him, but he was so damn cute when agitated. It was a curse of his own making.

"Would it bother you if we did?"

"No!" he cried, turning down to her. Lana only waited, her lips curling up in a smirk. "Fine," Cullen groaned, wiping his hand through his hair, "it would be unnerving to sit around speaking with another of your lovers. And I would like to know what I'll be facing. That is all."

Unable to take it, Lana patted his cheek, the scruff returning with a prickly vengeance. "No, Zev and I never did anything like that together. We're just friends. He's flirty with everyone he meets."

"Really? Everyone?" Cullen tried to not sigh in relief, but she could see it building in his chest. To hide that fact, he pinned her hand to his cheek.

"Oh yes, in fact the only ones I don't believe he hit on during the blight were Oghren, my mabari, and...that may be it."

"During the blight...but what about?"

Lana caught on to his train of thought. Dipping her head down, she felt a blush rising from the memory of that account, "Yes, he did try with who you're thinking of, and it went sailing over his head to an almost willful degree."

"Ah," Cullen sighed, sagging down from his precarious perch. "So, nothing of a romantic nature between you and this Zevran, even after?"

"Nope," Lana shook her head and pulled her hand away. She began to walk down the street towards another potential building, when she paused and said nonchalantly over her shoulder, "But he did sleep with Leliana, a couple of times." It was worth it to watch Cullen's foot hover above the snow as his balance raced to adjust itself before he crashed to the cobblestones.

After walking up and down the street for what felt like days and finding no hint of the entrance or anything else of interest, Lana was about to call it quits herself. "Honor, are you certain you can't sniff him out. Smells like antivan leather."

"I don't think it works like that. You can't just describe the scent to her, and then..." Cullen's words faded away as Lana sat up, an idea taking hold. _Maker, it couldn't be that easy._

Most of the street was made up of old shops burned and gutted from some ancient fire and never repaired, but across from them stood what looked like an actual manor house. Its buttress collapsed in on themselves, leaving half a wall exposed to the elements. A bit like a dollhouse with the fourth wall missing, if she stood up on her toes she could peek in on the pitted and moldy furniture exposed to Orlais' vengeful elements. But that wasn't what drew her attention. Sitting perched upon the stoop was a bird statue, about three feet tall. It was once black as night judging by the small hints of paint hidden below coatings of filth. And someone took the time to slice the head clear off.

Lana's fingers ran over the sword mark, clean and quick, but what drew her attention was the level of wear upon the chipped off neck. While the rest of the bird faded to a dingy grey, this was still black as onyx, as if it had happened recently. "This is it," she announced, glancing towards the manor's door.

"You seem certain..." Cullen didn't call her out deliberately, but she could hear his concerns. Maker, she could always hear his unvoiced concerns.

"Let's just say Zev left a hint." Balancing her weight on her cane, Lana limped up the creaking stairs towards the entrance. Despite debris covering up windows on both sides of the house, the door remained surprisingly clear, or perhaps someone took the time to free it. "Besides," Lana laughed, her fingers picking at the latch. It lifted without any give. Pushing into the door, it wobbled but even the hinges didn't whine. Someone was taking care of it. "If it's not the right one, what's the harm in trying it and moving on?"

Cullen scowled from his spot on the porch, but didn't have an easy answer. Smiling once at him, Lana crossed the threshold into the house. Dark as pitch, she couldn't make a thing out aside from the rotted corpses of the furniture. Holding a hand up to her mouth, Lana called out, "Zevra-"

A hand lashed out of the darkness to grab her from behind. She barely had time to turn to face it when a dagger glinted against her throat. "Lana!" Cullen shouted from the street, his shoulder down as he barreled towards her, but the assailant didn't slam the door in his face. He didn't drag Lana back further, only held her in place.

 _Foolish move_ , she thought, slicing apart the veil, when the dagger nipped near her skin close enough the chill of the blade touched her but it left no bite. "Now now," Zevran whispered from behind her. "Let's not go throwing any fireballs around in here. Doubtful the wainscoting could take it in its poor state."

"Zev?" Lana gripped onto the steel forearm around her throat. Despite the dagger as a threat he hadn't made any move to hurt her.

"Put her down," Cullen growled, his eyes burning with the need to disembowel the elf. He carried no weapon, neither sword nor shield, but she feared he might try to rend Zevran limb from limb with his bare hands. Beside Cullen, Honor snarled, her fur in full on lift along her back.

"Everyone hold a moment, all right," Lana said, the one technically held at a knife point also the only one being calm.

"I'm holding quite nicely," Zev chuckled. He gripped onto her upper arm with his free hand and, with a force to his words she'd never heard before, asked, "Do you recognize the dagger? It's the same one you gave me during the blight."

Cullen lurched a step forward, testing Zev's resolve. The elf didn't make good on his threat, but he did yank Lana back further. Her legs cried out in pain, her arm adding in a bit too, but she was shaking her head lost in his question. "What dagger? What are you talking about? I didn't give you a...What is this, everite? Maker, we didn't have access to everite during the blight, much less enough to make a dagger. All I gave you were the damn gloves you're wearing."

The dagger dropped from her neck, his body folding off of her. He didn't push her away towards Cullen, but Zev stumbled back against the rotted wall. "Maker's breath..." Lana whipped around to face the stunned elf staring at the floor. "It's you," his startling eyes turned up to her and she almost thought she spotted a glare of a tear rising inside them, "you're alive."

Lana reached back to Cullen who had his hackles up. As her fingers crested across his arm, he didn't soften his stance in preparation of leaping at Zev and pounding him flat. Instead, he gripped tight to her to try and protect her with his own body. Looking over Zev anew, Lana sighed. She kept forgetting that her resurrection would be more than a shock for the people who weren't there when it happened.

"I am...Lanny Amell, at your service," she bowed poorly, unable to reach far in her sorry state. "Those gloves were like the ones your mother had, who was herself Dalish. And on top of them I also found for you a pair of boots made with rich, Antivan leather," her eyes darted down to his shoes. She frowned, "...which you do not seem to be wearing any longer."

Zev chuckled, "Lania, you expect boots to last for fourteen years? It is a wonder ours managed more than three months with the walking we endured."

"Maker, there was a lot of it," she bobbed her head.

"Wait, wait," Cullen interrupted between the two of them reminiscing, "you were going to kill her?"

"No, of course not. Never. Not to say I am without the means to," Zevran grinned wide with his boast which only got another growl from Cullen. "But when I heard word of Lania's rising from the ashes, I was concerned if you were truly who you claimed to be."

"What?" Lana scoffed, "You thought I was some evil trick of blood mages?"

"They have been known to pull off a surprise now and again," Zevran said, and a darkness drifted across his brow. She'd never heard anything of him fighting off blood mages, but...Lana had missed a lot of his life. A lot of her own, it seemed. His unarmed hand reached towards hers, but Cullen jerked forward about to slap it away.

Zev's eyes darted up and he wafted it away as if it was all in Cullen's imagination. Her master's mood traveled down to Honor who barked thrice at the assassin elf. Laughing, Zev jerked his thumb at the dog, "I see you continue to travel with ill bred mutts suffering under a case of not enough brains to back up their brawn..." pausing, he turned his cocky grin to Cullen, "and also a mabari."

Cullen's sneer reached level five, but his stance faded into a crossed arms and steady legged one. "Stand down, Honor," he ordered, "this one's toothless."

Smiling at him, Zev inched closer to Lana to whisper, "I admit this newer model isn't as rambunctious as the last andtends to scowl more, but he makes it work. It's no wonder the women across thedas wished to snatch him up, the heat off that anger alone." Winking once at her, he turned his elfin grin at Cullen, "They no doubt intend to install you in the corners of their salons to stand there brooding for them all night and day. I dare say it'd increase the fertility rate in Orlais, at least."

She could hear Cullen's teeth grinding inside his jaw, but he didn't say anything. Lana cast a quick glance over at him to make certain he wasn't about to kick a wall over, then turned to Zev, "You know about Cullen?"

"The Lion of Skyhold? It is difficult to avoid talk of any from the great mountain fortress. Maker, you must have heard the songs."

"Songs, what songs?" Cullen interrupted, his fear of embarrassment tramping over his need to splatter the elf.

Zev ignored him, his hand lilting through the air. "Very popular with a certain subset of admirers. I daresay they're even playing it in Antivan caffés at this very moment. Catchy in that mind rotting fashion. Ah yes, and I did work with your little religious group for a time. You might remember me as that assassin who assassinated an assassin or two."

His reassurances did little to help lower Cullen's hackles, but in his eyes Lana spotted a vague recollection of what Zevran claimed, after he finished scowling from the description for the Inquisition. Stepping between them, because she was in no state to break up a fight and not in the mood to watch, Lana asked him the important question, "Zev, why are you here in Orlais? I thought you were working through the masters in Antiva. Unless one of the masters was here visiting in Val Royeaux..." she gasped, her mind coming to the logical conclusion, "attempting an assassination!"

Turning his luminous smile upon her, Zevran sighed in his lilting voice, "How could I ever doubt it wasn't you, piccola maga?" Glancing over her hair that was now blushing from Zev's pet name, he tipped his head at Cullen, "Does she do that to you? Trail away in thoughts and wind up five miles down the road?"

Cullen re-crossed his arms to drive home the point he had no intentions to be friendly, but added a begrudging, "Yes, often."

"It is as you already surmised with your dangerously overheated brain. I was in pursuit of a Crow, not the highest in the hierarchy but I wanted to give myself a little Satinalia gift."

"By killing a man," Cullen translated.

"By assassinating a man who had already killed a good fifty people in his lifetime. You'll forgive me for not weeping openly at his loss," Zev snapped up, his rare cockles breaking free. Few things got to him, but he never managed to feel an ounce of pity for the Crows in any state.

"Okay," Lana interrupted again, trying to get this all back on track, "if you were here in Val Royeaux on another mission, how did you find me? Was it pure happenstance?"

"No," Zev shook his head in emphasis, "our dear Leliana told me, in no uncertain terms, to not find you. Of course, at the time I had no idea you were alive much less inside the city, while she seemed to be under a different impression."

"I told her about the letter I was sending you and...how did you find me, then?" Lana began to slide back and forth on her exhausted legs, wishing she could pace to think.

"Lania, please, give me some credit. I tracked that creature you let slobber in your lap, and when that didn't work, the mabari there."

Before Cullen could groan or worse, Lana snapped open the veil and nipped a single spark across Zev's lips. He didn't leap back from her barely visible attack, but did try to lick the sting away. "Fair enough. It is my own fault for using the same joke twice."

Twisting back, Lana rolled her eyes about Zev's antics at Cullen but he wasn't enjoying the elf's obvious attempts at lightening the mood. Something else was keeping his back straight and his eyes hunting around the room. _What was...?_ Lana whipped back to Zevran, who was rubbing his lips with his palm from her sting, "You said Leliana told you to not find me. Why were you talking to her?"

"Because, upon ending the assassin I was after I thought I'd use my free time to take a little peek through his belongings, see if there was any coin I could donate to the cause. And in the process I discovered who was on his list of targets."

"Maker's breath," Lana groaned, catching on, "the bloody Crows were going to take out the Divine?"

"Why did we never call ourselves the Bloody Crows? Is that, as they say, a bit too much on the nose? A murder of bloody crows...nah, it is cumbersome. Yes, it is as you guessed in your delightful Ferelden colloquialism. He was sent to murder the Divine and I thought she might like to be informed of that."

"We must tell someone," Cullen roared, rising up at the risk laid out before them. Zev waved a hand getting a derisive snort from the Lion, "someone who has worth."

"Ouch. Lania, I think I prefer the funnier version of before. Well, funnier is a relative term."

"Not the time, Zev," she growled at him and for a moment regret drifted through his eyes. He knew of the first time Alistair hurt her but not the second. Perhaps it didn't matter.

"We should contact the Inquisition," Cullen continued, the commander rising from its shallow grave. "They will have the means to provide a defense and protect the Divine, not to mention any other Mothers on the list."

"Mothers..." Zev snorted, "who do you think hired him?"

That drew a glare from the lifelong Andrastian, "You know this as fact?"

Zev shrugged, "Not in particular, but if the vestment fits..."

"Cullen," Lana whispered, trying to pull him away from his fervor.

"The new spymaster doesn't have the skills of Leliana, but Charter's proven herself over the years. I think she-"

"Cullen!"

"What?" he ground to a halt and had to turn away from the support beam he was strangling to look at Lana.

"If Leliana told Zevran not to tell me about this, then that means..."

"She was well aware," he finished for her.

"By the flames of Andraste," Cullen sagged, dragging his shoulders lower. He dug into his eyes and began to massage away a, no doubt, three year old headache.

Reaching over, Lana rubbed up and down his arm, trying to bring some life back to him. "Was there anything else, Zev? Anything that in her 'telling you to not find me so you will' way did she add that she'd obliterate you from the face of thedas for informing me of?"

"Ah..." his eyes darted around the room, taking in the multitude of shadows in his makeshift home.

"Zevran Arini, we have known each other for over fourteen years. If you do not tell me now I can make your life...very uncomfortable," she leaned close to his face and cupped her fingers into a clenching vice.

He gulped a few times before nodding, "Very well, I acquiesce, but when my bloated corpse washes up on the shores of the White River you shall have only yourself to blame."

"I'll take that chance," Lana said folding her hand back into her coat.

Taking a few more breaths, Zev steadied himself. He hunted through the shifting shadows one more time before diving full in. "Things are moving, more than the usual strife, even beyond what I'd expect given all the upheaval of late."

"What's moving? What's going on?" Cullen interrupted, needing to find a problem he could hammer into place.

Zev glared up at him for a moment before honing in on Lana, "If I knew that do you think I'd be playing cat and mouse in a dilapidated manor that will most likely give me some fashionable disease? Lania, there are rumblings of a group, a new order of templars forming somewhere in the south."

"New templars, that's preposterous," Cullen scoffed. "No one would be willing to train them, barely any are left to form an army."

"You assume they need and or want training to become templars." Zev sighed, "Upheaval upsets the natural order, leaving those once with unearned power useless. Some men are looking for a cause to give them an excuse to gather in clumps and rattle their sabers high, any will do. And, at this moment, attacking mages who dare to flaunt their magic in the open is a growing cause."

Templars. No, not templars. Thugs dressed up in templar armor. It was as if someone took all the bad of templars, none of the good, and then amplified it by a thousand disenfranchised voices crying out because they never got their lot in life. They couldn't be stupid enough to attack the college openly. Not now, certainly not knowing how many battle hardened mages lived inside. But picking off a lone mage wandering the streets, it'd be as easy as predicting the sunrise. How many people would run to assist a mage's cry? How many would care to have another snuffed out?

"How loud are these rumors?" Lana asked, glaring at him from below her brow.

"Not above a whisper, yet. But..."

"People aren't dismissing them outright. People are talking about how they might have some good points," she could see it all across every tavern. Scared citizens with too much mead in their blood slamming a fist into the bar and complaining about all they'd lost in the rebellions, in the war against Corypheus, due to nature itself. All of which could be blamed upon one of the old standbys.

"Lania, I have a few contacts at my disposal. The less than savory type that would turn your bedmate's nose up, but they could..."

"No."

"Scusami?"

"I can't," Lana screwed her eyes up tight trying to drown the pounding in her blood. The rebellions didn't solve anything, anyone with half a brain knew that. All it did was delay each problem isolated across thedas until the next fire grew into an all out war. She could fight it, rise back up and do her damnedest to carve a real change for mages. It began for a moment after the blight. For a short time all of thedas was grateful to a mage for saving them. Do it again, do it ten times over, a hundred, and maybe it'd finally stick.

Biting her lip, she glanced over at Cullen. His face stricken wan, he narrowed his eyes and sneered. He knew too. Knew what it would take to change the world, how it was a calling not a life. And she already had her own Calling waiting at the end for her. "Keep your contacts to yourself, Zev," Lana said, patting him on the arm. "I...this is not my fight."

"Lana," she felt Cullen's hands slide along her shoulders, his strong fingers digging into her weak body. "Are you...I wouldn't want to, these are your people."

"Are they?" she swallowed, shaking her head, "No, it's...there comes a time when you have to know to step back, to let other people handle it. It's my time."

"As you say, bella donna," Zevran bowed. "I should not have told you, please forgive me."

"It's all right, Zev. I needed to know, and would have found out eventually. Maybe I can..." Lana shook her head to waft away the ill formed dreams. Smiling, she grabbed his hand, "I am glad you found me, I did write to you."

"And I look forward to reading it. You always had such delightful letters," his eyes lingered across Cullen before he leaned forward to whisper, "I pray these will be just as graphic as prior." Then that Antivan leer drifted up and down the commander's body so obviously even Cullen staggered back from it. Absently, he dug at the back of his neck which only caused Zev to sigh at Lana, "You shall have a bounty placed on your head by all the maidens in Orlais. Be wary."

Smiling smugly, she patted Zev's arm, "Good thing I know the best assassin in thedas. I figure he'll give me a heads up warning."

"Naturally," he beamed, "unless one of them hires me, then it might be a conflict of interest. It was a joke," Zev shouted at Cullen's dour turn, "do not pout. Actually, do pout and maybe flex your arms a little."

"Now there's the Zevran I remember," Lana laughed at the infamous libido. "With that settled, I say we sit for a time and talk about things other than assassins."

"Or magic," Zev smiled, wrapping his hand around hers.

"We could get away from this moldy mansion and head back to the plaza," Cullen suggested. He gestured out the door but paused, his eyes darting towards his biceps, which he promptly shuffled behind his back.

"I shall have you know, I've cleaned out a lovely sitting room deeper inside. This debris is left to keep solicitors from bothering me. Come, Lania. You have much to tell me about how you escaped death itself. Please tell me there was a game of chess involved."

"Not as such, no," Lana laughed, letting Zev lead her deeper into the house that warmed as they moved around the fallen beams. "And you must tell me of your exploits as well. A lot can happen in two years."

His charming Antivan smile beamed the full force upon her, "You have no idea. Let's see, there was this dashing brunette..."


	20. Future

"Commander," a head bobbed in his direction. He didn't catch the smile and wandering eyes until Cullen already passed the Sister. Fighting down the urge to whip around and glare, or stand rigid, he roughed up the fur on Honor's head. She dodged away after a moment, in no mood for his attention. Sighing, Cullen glanced fully down at his dog who was still trailing a small puddle of water all the way across the streets of Val Royeaux.

"Do not blame me for your state, you chose to go diving in the river." In response, Honor barked once and stuck her chest out, proud of her accomplishment. Chuckling, he sighed, "Not every stick needs to be rescued. Some seem rather happy to keep floating on by. You'd do well to remember that." Petting her fur once more and trying to slick off the more pungent river water, Cullen spoke to himself, "As would I."

"Afternoon, Commander," another person greeted him, this one of the rarer Brothers in the chantry.

He tipped his chin at the man who didn't look much beyond the age of twenty, no doubt someone sold to the chantry at a young age or as a babe. It was rare for men to rise so far so fast unless they had a lifetime behind them. "Brother," Cullen answered, accepting that he had no way of knowing who that was.

The man gestured at Honor, "May I?"

"Of course, she'd love it," he folded his arms and watched the regal facade crack as the young man dropped to the ground to pet the mabari. She, in turn, played with him, leaping about and barking in joy.

"Thank you," the Brother said as if Cullen just pulled him from the river. Bowing deep at the waist once more he said, "Commander," and then scuttled away.

Three months in Val Royeaux and everyone in the Grand Cathedral was aware of his presence, that the Commander of the Inquisition graced their halls. Except, he wasn't that anymore. He'd given up his commission, turned in his metaphoric sword and shield - the Inquisitor insisted he keep his actual ones. And yet, that was all anyone knew to refer to him as, his rank. It had been his identity for so much of his life. Duty, orders, following the chain of command and then, Maker help him, leading it himself.

And now, who was he? Lana'd been asking as of late if he had any pressing hobbies he'd always wanted to pick up but never had the chance. She'd make mention of a boat from time to time, as if that was the only way for a broken down soldier to retire. Threatening sea voyages were all in Cullen's past, if he could have his way. Even skimming across a lake put a dull knife in his gut, as if he was traversing Lake Calenhad again, heading out to the tower. He'd tried to suggest chess, but Lana scoffed at that as one, something that wouldn't take more than an afternoon's worth of time, and two, just more strategic planning. He had to have a life outside of war, but...

What if he didn't? The last hobby Cullen could remember from before he became a templar involved knotting together the hair of Mia's dolls. Which was probably not what Lana was thinking of. So much of his life was devoted first to joining the templars, then honing his mind and body to be the best, and finally, picking up the pieces of the order. Now the remnants he could save reseted safely inside a box, what was left?

"What am I going to do with my life?" he whispered at Honor.

In response, she sat down and brought her teeth to her hindquarters, giving them all a good scratch. "Yes, well, that will at best finish off an hour for the attempt and a day and a half of recovery for me. I think I'll keep looking in the meantime."

With a hand skimming along the railing, Cullen strode up the staircase to their apartments. How much longer would they be theirs? If Leliana had it her way, until Divine Victoria ascended to the Maker's side. She wasn't subtle about it either, now offering suggestions that they should offer up their own input for decorating. Though Cullen's suggestions to take the bed out back, douse it in holy water and then set it on fire with anointed flames, went ignored. He knew he should bring his concerns up with Lana, the depths of his soul telling him he didn't belong in Val Royeaux, but whenever the idea flitted through his mind he froze. What if she wanted to stay permanently? What would he do?

"You're lucky your only concerns are rescuing sticks and thieving treats from the far too kind Mothers," Cullen whispered down at Honor. "Do not think I am unaware of your nightly prowling up and down the halls, and how many of the clergy find the poor starved dog unbearably tempting."

Wagging her stump of a tail at the attention, Honor put on her begging eyes as if to say "Who me? I would never disobey an order." It didn't work well on the man who less than an hour earlier shouted at her to not get in the river, to not swim through the floating sewage, and then, to not shake said filthy river water across him. "Perhaps it is a good thing I've turned in my command. I can't even get a dog to obey my orders. I'm growing softer with each day."

Cullen cracked open the door to their apartment when he heard a voice welling up through the gap. Sung in a high alto, the words were crisp and clear and the tune bouncy despite the key itself being morose.

_"When the swords lay silent_

_The final cry sung_

_What shall remain?_

_Blood washing clear_

_By tears in the rain."_

Edging inside without making too much noise, Cullen silently shut the door. He'd never heard Lana sing this tune before. She tended to hum under her breath and mostly chantry songs everyone knew. On occasion, a rather bawdy tavern song would tumble out, in particular if Leliana had recently been by to visit, as if Lana couldn't break it free from her ear. This one carried an edge in her voice he didn't expect.

_"Lion of the sky_

_Hold firm against the end_

_Breech comes for us all_

_But you are left to stand."_

Cullen paused, his shoulders tightening as he realized two things about this song. One, he had heard it before, usually in Orlesian and two, it was blighted about him. Again. He'd tried to stamp the one out from before, a song that made liberal use of the easily reached sword innuendo, but his attempts only amplified its attention in what Josephine came to call the "Cullen Effect." Anything he railed against became an instant hit across thedas, in particular if it had anything to do with him.

Somehow this song passed him by. He knew that other people referred to him as a lion, for varying reasons, but he never felt that proud roar of the beast, nor its unshakable dominion over its territory. Not to mention he wasn't bloody Orlesian. If anything, he should be a mabari. Turning, he caught sight of Honor licking the walls.

Perhaps not mabari either.

_"Empty, forlorn_

_Final roar cries_

_Victory for all_

_In the lonesome hour_

_Who answers the call?"_

As he turned the corner he spotted the singer's silhouette malformed by the oddly shaped glassware piled up on the table. Glass tubes twisted and bulged in angles, each of them dipping to form a funnel, of sorts, that had a slow drip of clear liquid plopping into what he recognized as a potion bottle. Unaware of her audience, Lana had her palm cupped under one of the fatter tubes. Her eyes were screwed tight as fire lapped from her fingers to boil at the liquid inside.

_"Lion of the sky_

_Staring down alone_

_Through the tears of heaven_

_Awaiting an empty throne."_

The final word faded away through her voice, and she drew her fingers from the flask before twisting open a rubber stopper. Liquid poured out of one glass tube to another, steam rising up from her work to cloud the second flask. Humming under her breath the same tune, her beautiful eyes darted up from her work and she smiled at him. "You're back."

"And you're...making a potion?" Cullen asked, sliding closer. He'd been around enough of the alchemists when they were in the full throes of work to know to never get too close. Fumes were dangerous, as could be any unanticipated explosions. One could always spot a well trained alchemist by the state of their eyebrows.

"Yes," Lana smiled again, but he caught a hint of a blush rising up her cheeks. She didn't anticipate him catching her working. "It's, well, I don't want to give it away until it's finished. I admit, I was never a master distiller, certainly not of the skill of the tranquil. But this protocol was easy enough to follow," Lana gestured at a sheet of vellum she nailed to the wall for quick reading. Three green fingerprints circled around the edge. "The real challenge was in finding the right glassware. Seems a lot of it was broken during the rebellion, and no one bothers with specialized pieces anymore with the circles gone. Mostly gone."

"That song you were singing...?"

She flinched for a moment, "Heard that, did you? I'm not much of a singer. I'd never make it far as a bard for various reasons, but it..." Pointing at the blistering hot glassware that she'd magicked, which of course looked the exact same as the cool glassware, Lana explained, "I don't have any timers that are exact enough for the length of time necessary to boil during the final stage. Well, final boiling stage. There's a cool down, ethanol extraction and...never mind. I found that if I sing that song two and a half times it's just the right length for boiling."

Cullen nodded as if that made much sense to him. He could grasp the basic concept of using a song to keep track of the minutes, he'd done the same from time to time as a templar. "I understand, but why that song?"

"Oh..." her embarrassment at getting caught singing flipped around to an ornery grin, "figured it out, I take it. Leliana was so damn certain you had no idea."

"I didn't," he sighed, "not until I heard it from your lips." It hadn't struck him before, the poetry haranguing him for keeping himself aloof from people -- especially people who had a romantic interest in him. But it was different from her, the one who knew better than anyone why he favored solitude, the only one who could break him of it.

Lana tossed a wadded towel upon the table's edge and skirted close to him. Her fingers drifted around his waist, heat trailing the palm that boiled away some aspect of the potion. Cullen was about to comment on that, when she pushed up on her toes and kissed him. The heat from her lips scorched whatever fire erupted off her hands. Off balance, Cullen grabbed onto her cheek, pinning himself in place so he didn't topple over at her hunger. Barely hiding her smile, Lana slipped away from his mouth but not his body.

As her arms wrapped around him, her cheek brushing against his chest, he noticed she was wearing an apron. Not the typical leather one mages wore when doing anything alchemical or for rune crafting. The apron favored by chefs strained at the high point of her breasts, tensed to the point it seemed like a deep breath could rip it. Cullen blinked in surprise to find that idea very enticing. While he cupped the small of her back, he felt the knot of the apron's ribbon tied into a lopsided bow.

"Lana," he asked, "how are you able to scrounge up this much mage equipment? Wait, let me guess, Leliana."

"Not entirely, no..."

He felt her cheek darting up and down against his chest. Cullen tried to pry her away to stare into her eyes. "You are not in contact with the mage college."

"I couldn't find what I needed in Val Royeaux. Which surprised me. I thought it'd be easy but apparently not. Don't make that face, yes, that one, where you hunch your eyebrows together as if someone hung a weight off your forehead. I _myself_ haven't been in contact with anyone at the college."

"What name are you using?" he asked, catching on to her subterfuge. Leliana either knew about it, or would go fully spare when she did. To himself, Cullen decided that the Divine need not know about everything occurring in her Cathedral.

Lana shrugged, "Marguerite. I, I don't think she'd mind."

"Are you, don't you think someone might notice, or wonder?"

"The circle in Ferelden was a mess, with the malifecarum attack and then the blight. Mages scattered to the four winds. It's doubtful there's anyone remaining in the college who'd remember a mage that died fourteen years ago," Lana tried to smile through her response, but he spotted her bottom lip puckering out and her eyes watering.

Wrapping her tight to his chest, he cupped the back of her head and buried his chin in her hair. "I remember her a little," Cullen said.

"I remember her a lot," Lana said. "It was funny, all that time after the blight and I did my damnedest to not think about the tower, about the people who remained behind, or the people who didn't." Her words faded and he felt her crying against him. There were no audible sobs, that wasn't what she did. The most Lana ever loudly cried was with a gasp or two, that was quickly smothered to silence. Gently, Cullen swayed with her in his arms. He felt her grief plucking at his own, trying to drag up all his friends who died in that massacre, but he buried it deep. It wasn't the time.

Lana released a hand around him to pinch at the bridge of her nose and wipe away the tears. Returning to hold him, she sighed, "After the fade, I...I keep thinking about them, about my time with them. Margie, Michael -- that mage she had a terrible crush on, even Jowan. Maker, Jowan drove me mad half the time!" she gasped, a laugh on the end before it faded to a whisper, "But, he was the mage I knew the longest. We, we became friends the first day I entered the tower."

"I knew that if I spotted him, you'd be near," Cullen said, his own vision turning hazy with memories.

"Right," Lana smiled, "so many people assumed because we were opposite genders and friends we simply had to be a couple. It grew rather tiresome to hear the snickers behind covered hands, in particular from templars."

"I...I don't know if it was Jowan they were snickering about regarding you." Cullen couldn't bury the blush creeping up from the depths of his late teenage years. He heard them himself, usually from the likes of handsome people like Frederick who found it hilarious to think someone like Cullen -- devout, duteous, homely -- would fall for one of the prettiest mages in the tower. Sometimes he'd receive suggestions on how to convince the Apprentice Amell to slip into the stacks with him, most of which made certain he kept the templar helm on at all times. It was a wonder his ego didn't fully wither and die before he reached the age of twenty.

Lana's fingers circled around the small of his back, dragging him from his dark thoughts. Blinking away the past, he glanced down at those beguiling eyes that would often trail him in his dreams. He felt the sneer on his lips fade to a grateful smile. Pushing a finger along her forehead, he curled a stray hair back in place. Those luscious lips he'd dreamed of kissing a thousand times before he dared to try lifted up in their own grin.

"I was aware of those rumors as well," she breathed.

"Oh?" he swallowed trying to not feel like a young man who had his crush chase him down and ask why people kept talking about them. It was idiotic, but sometimes the past lingered like floured palm prints.

Lana ran her fingers up his back, her nails scratching a path that ignited him. "I would blush for a good five minutes straight after I heard one. You wouldn't believe the amount of grief Margie gave me for it. She thought I should go for it, but, of course..."

"It wasn't proper," he filled in.

Lana snickered, "And I was scared shitless. Maker, what would I do if you didn't like me? I mean, how awkward would that be?"

"That," Cullen dipped his head until his forehead skimmed across hers. Slipping his eyes closed, he sighed, "that was my fear as well."

Opening his eyes, he stared deep into Lana's golden halos. They sparkled as she lifted her hands up behind his neck. Knotting her fingers through his curls and gently tugging back, she twisted her head to the right. He prepared to kiss her, but she paused. Taking a breath, Lana whispered beside him, "For Margie," before diving in for the kiss. Cullen's hands moved up her back, trying to pin her tighter to him, to support her while Lana performed her innate magic.

As she slipped down, she paused and shifted her shoulders, "Did you...untie my apron?"

"I, uh..." he lifted his hand away to find the apron's string knotted up in his fingers. It came so naturally to him, he didn't realize he was doing it. "I seem to have."

Shaking her head with a laugh, Lana tugged it off over her head and tossed the apron onto her work bench. "You only needed to ask."

"I fear that was more my body working without my mind," he admitted, flinching at the implications. Lana didn't react. She turned towards her little experiment, dipping down to her knees to take in the bottle filling to a quarter with the clear liquid.

"How are you doing today? Is it a Wednesday?" Glancing up at him, she watched his reaction.

"No, I'm doing quite well," Cullen admitted, wanting to feel her in his arms again and hoping that was enough of an invitation.

But Lana's face fell and she glanced back at the bottle, "Oh."

"What? You hoped I'd be in a bad state?" he shook his head.

"No, no," Lana shot up, then grimaced, "Well, I...that sounded bad, but I meant kind of. Because..." picking up the clear bottle, she held the liquid near Cullen's nose, "I wanted to test what I made."

"On me?"

"On your withdrawal symptoms," she smiled wide, waving the bottle closer. For his part, Cullen picked it up but watched it with a wary eye.

"You created an untested potion to help with lyrium poisoning?" He glanced down at the clear liquid, "Why isn't it red?"

"Health potions are only red because they cut in berries to mask the flavor. In reality, most potions are naturally clear. We color code them so it's easier to pick one out fast in a battle. No messy reading the label to make sure you don't accidentally dose yourself with a poison," she explained in an exasperated voice so quickly it told him she'd mentioned the fact often in her limited alchemical history.

"Where did you even get the idea for this?"

"That was easier than I expected," Lana said, gesturing at the piece of parchment she pinned to the wall. "I, at first, assumed I'd have to be chasing after current alchemical theories that weren't damaged or lost in the rebellion, but it turns out when the templar order was first created the chantry was concerned about lyrium addiction. They wanted to find a way to alleviate symptoms, having lost their better templars to the mental decay, and mages put some of their better minds to it."

"I'd never heard of that," Cullen mused.

"It took some digging on my part, and access to the restricted chantry library," Lana said, her head tipping back and forth. "Surprise, surprise once the chantry learned it could use the addictive nature of the lyrium to control templars they abandoned all research. Add on the mages growing chafed under their being treated as lap dogs and it was no wonder that the research fell into rot and decay. No one's aware of it; I only stumbled across it by accident."

Excited to show off her find, she pointed at a stack of books, "One of the old tomes I found made a vague reference to a lyrium potion. I assumed it was the one we use for drawing energy from the fade, of course, but it made mention of an herb that had no place in a lyrium draught. Those are lyrium and ethanol with a bit of castor oil for viscosity's sake, nothing more."

"Do not tell me, this herb was adder's hiss?" Cullen smirked, his eyes darting up to the plant that was already expanded past its pot and crawling along the ceiling.

Lana opened her mouth wide, then smiled, "Ah, no. That would be very dangerous, especially in such concentrated doses. It was the prophet's laurel, in fact. A rather humorous take, to think one of Andraste's own flowers could help heal a hurt done in Her name. It was easy acquiring some, southern Orlais is flush with it. My greater challenge was in finding the described glassware." She jerked her head at the piles of tubes, some of which he saw now she had to tie and tape in place.

"This is amazing," Cullen blinked.

"I wouldn't go that far. This was the early days, when templars only took lyrium under extreme need. We're talking about walking back from a few minor aches. Anything of significance will require more research, study, retooling of the methods..."

Her words trailed off as she watched him. Cullen ran his fingers across the words nailed to the wall. One half were in an ancient script, barely legible over the years and cramped. The other was all done in Lana's hand, her careful and manicured penmanship flowing around the page as she had yet another thought. The same hand he'd held in the deeproads, at Halamshiral, while storms raged through Skyhold, before Adamant, and as he pulled her out of that grey warden prison. The hand of a mage trying to save a templar.

"Cullen," she whispered, her fingers running up his shoulder.

Startled, he turned back to her. "Lana, I...I have no idea what to say."

"It's all right," she said. "It's the first step of many. An idea. We'll have to test it by and by, have controls and...Maker, I'll need to find access to other templars." Her musings faded as she smiled and shook her head. Cupping the bottle, she pulled it away from his fingers to place it back upon the table.

"Should I not take it?"

"No," Lana ran a finger over the glass before sticking a cork stopper deep into the neck, "no, it's best to save it for a bad turn. I doubt its effects will be noticeable until then. After that, we'll have to see."

"Love," he whispered, his voice caught in his throat. He wanted to tell her he loved her, that she was amazing beyond description and captured his soul all over again, but all of it smashed down into that compact, solitary word. Lana smiled at his fumble and she slipped her hands across his cheeks.

"My honey eyes," she sighed, tugging him down for a kiss. Cullen was happy to oblige, his hands wrapping around the small of her back. This time he focused to make certain he didn't unknot anything he shouldn't. His heart smiled at her tenacity as her tongue danced with his. Lana pushed her breasts tighter into his chest as she moaned in the back of her throat. About to break away for a breath, she paused herself. Gripping onto his biceps, she dug in for a moment before following them down behind her back to try and reach for his hands.

"You got my apron off," Lana said. He missed the smirk from a shallow regret climbing up his stomach, but it vanished at her next words, "What about the rest of it?"

 

* * *

 

The chill off the stones upon the wall did little to reach through her palms spread across it for support. Lana's body was an inferno bursting alive thanks to the man thrusting deeper inside her. She couldn't see him, but she knew those calluses cupping over and under her breasts as he steadied himself. Smelled that heady scent of his earthy sweat melded into the piquant musk that only sex could conjure. And was biting down a groan deep in her throat from how her entire lower half pulsed with pleasure; his magic and hers working in harmony.

"Dear Maker," Lana gasped, her hands flailing further apart to take the pressure. She sat on that cursed edge, begging for its end now in hopefully a spectacular fashion, but every time she almost reached it, a pain slithered up her legs. Feeling the flinch, Lana tried to shake it off before Cullen noticed, but of course he did.

"Do you need to stop?" he asked, each word broken up by a breath. Flames, his voice -- like wood crackling upon a bonfire -- lost in the depths of passion was almost enough to do her in.

Biting her lip and trying to turn her rising mana dump into healing instead of setting the room on fire, Lana shook her head madly. "Don't you fucking dare," she growled.

His voice breathed into her ear, tickling it awake as the warmth ran straight down through her core. "As you wish," he chuckled. Slowly, those indomitable fingers dropped off her breasts. She gasped at the pull upon them, now free to swing to their hearts content. Cullen gripped onto her hips and taking her weight into his hands, he thrusted far enough in to kick off her chain reaction.

"Maker's sake," Lana cried, her cracked fingernails digging into the mortar of the wall. Tremors pulsed from her vagina down her legs and up through her stomach. It was such a fast switch of pleasure claiming her body she wasn't certain if she was going to pass out or throw up.

Catching on that she came, no doubt from how tight she was constricting around his cock, Cullen growled deep in his throat. Tugging her hips upright, Lana had to adjust her stance to the very edge of the footstool. She felt herself start to wobble, the soles of her feet clinging to the cushions. It was worth it. The widening was enough for him to thrust all of himself inside of her with a veracity she'd thought unthinkable a month ago. His hips smacked into her ass, causing Lana to hang her head down and suck in air through her mouth. Her body was trying to ramp up for another round, but she doubted she'd survive it.

Knocking closer and closer to the wall with each rapid thrust, she prayed she wasn't about to slip and fall or put her head through the stones. Flames, at the level of pleasure rampaging through her body a slight concussion might be worth it. She thought he'd pop off fast, but Cullen wanted to go for both distance and speed. Pinching her finger and thumb together, Lana braced herself on the wall with one arm while rolling the vibrating spell against her clit. Or so she planned.

Her own strumming knocked Cullen free. Nails digging into the flesh on her hips, he stuttered something, his thrusting slowing. She could feel him pulsing from orgasm through not only herself but her fingers as well. Her body began to slide back from the abyss, in no mood for round two, when Cullen -- still in throes of his own pleasure -- skimmed his teeth across the skin of her shoulder and bit down.

"Andraste's Ass!" Lana cursed, the pain transforming into instant pleasure which opened up the floodgates anew. Spiraling into the warm abyss, Lana felt her body slump down when a hand clasped against her stomach. Even with his body exhausted beyond reach, Cullen kept her held tight to him. Dipping his hips down, he slid out of her and then wrapped both arms tight to hug her back.

"That..." Lana panted, shaking her head to try and reach the sense part of her brain. At the moment all of it was sparking in abject joy. "I forgot how good that felt."

"'The right side of pain,'" he quoted. His lips brushed against the back of her neck, for once in easy reach without her having to balance on tiptoes.

Chuckling, Lana's voice rasped, "Something like that. Did it..." she tried to glance at him over her shoulder but Cullen was hiding in the middle of her back. "Was it too strange for you?"

"No," hugging tight once more, he released his hold and slid back. Slowly Lana turned on the footstool to face him, while Cullen helped her maintain her balance. "I dare say I even enjoyed it."

"Really?" She was surprised. He'd been skeptical of the idea when she suggested it.

Shrugging, Cullen tried to wipe a hand through his matted curls but the sweat glistening across his body only smooshed them to the other side. "I suspect your reaction had much to do with it." Lana laughed at that, some of her blood finding its way up to rush to her cheeks. "Here," Cullen noticed her standing awkwardly on the footstool, "let me help you down."

Rather than offer a hand, he rolled his fingers across her back and dug each palm into an asscheek. She giggled madly as he lifted her higher into the air, barely able to palm her luscious backside. After placing her gently to the ground, Cullen's hands roamed upward, locking in tight around her waist to keep her weight.

Smiling, Lana reached both her arms out to snuggle her cheek against his chest when she paused and gasped, "Maker's breath, you're coated in sweat!"

"Imagine that," Cullen chuckled, swallowing to try and wash away the rasp in his voice. Lana didn't slide away from the sweat glistening across his chest, but she did slick some off before laying her head down. After cupping her shoulder, Cullen whispered near her ear, "It is all your doing; you have only yourself to blame."

"If so, then I do good work."

"The best," he sighed. They were being silly, it was the middle of the day, they were naked and standing beside the breakfast table where anyone could burst in on them. They should both dry off, clean up, and dress, but Lana wanted to melt into his arms. She felt a deep urge to spend the rest of winter hibernating on top of him.

Smiling wickedly, she glanced over at the footstool they'd kicked out of the sitting room. "I've never been able to do that standing before," she admitted, "the mechanics don't quite work out right." Lana tried to mime matching two joints together with an insurmountable height differential. Watching her, Cullen laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"A first then, for both of us."

"A good one," she said, then licked her finger and pretended to write something in the air, "I'm adding it to the list." After putting away her imaginary quill, Lana glanced down at the aid that made it all possible. "Do you think Leliana would mind if we sort of stole that footstool. It's the damn near perfect height..."

"Stole?" Cullen asked. "Do not tell me you intend to repeat that performance all across the Grand Cathedral. I fear the Mothers would have me walk the streets of Val Royeaux naked if they caught us."

"What about me?"

"You're the Divine's mistress, they're certain to go lenient on you."

Lana snorted at the idea, as if she wouldn't be boiled alive and her juices used to make a pudding for such an infraction. Sure, Leliana could use those rumors to her advantage but the moment anyone got a whiff of them being false, or worse -- assumed Lana's attentions turned elsewhere -- it would be a mess of epic proportions. People either marked her as Ferelden or those with a good ear, Marcher. The Divine's not-Orlesian mistress stepping out with a Ferelden man would probably mean war because Orlesians loved any excuse for it.

_Maker, why was everything in Val Royeaux so damn hard?_

"Lana," Cullen startled her from her thoughts, "I know we haven't spoken much of the future, of your plans, of even my plans, but..." he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "This is not the time, not while we're both unclothed and undone."

"Are you sure...?" she ran her fingers across his chest. Something in his tone struck her; there was an edge hiding below the easy banter.

"Yes," Cullen forced up a smile.

"You promise we can talk later," she began, worried that this might become like the Alistair issue and blow up in their faces if left alone too long.

"Of course, always. I," he paused and wrapped his arms tighter against her, as if he was suddenly afraid she might disappear on him. "I fear my mind is on other things at the moment."

"So I noticed," she smiled, her fingers drifting down his stomach to curl around his wet cock.

Sighing in his throat, Cullen pressed another kiss to her head, "And you are about ready to pass out. Don't argue, I can tell when I have nearly all your weight in my arms."

"Are you calling me fat?" she said in mock outrage, but he deftly dodged it.

Digging into her ass, Cullen lifted Lana up off the floor. She yelped in surprise before knotting her fingers behind his head. Pressing a kiss to her lips, Cullen carted her towards the bedroom. At the threshold he paused and whispered, "I love you, you know."

"I do," she stared deep into a cauldron of joy and anguish bobbing in his eyes. Lana wanted to examine both, but Cullen turned on his smile and lifted her onto the bed.

"Good."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very very VERY bad at song lyrics and poetry in general. To make up for the few you had to suffer, here's a [much better song](https://youtu.be/-oA-OvP3vME) about Cullen that I had nothing to do with.


	21. Return

Water lapped against the boats clustered across the river, every mast tipping and waving as another gust of wind bobbed them along. Beside him, Lana pointed at something far in the distance, gesturing at a part of boats that she found interesting. Cullen's focus, however, zeroed in on her. Flush with excitement and being free of the Grand Cathedral's walls, Lana'd been smiling nearly the entire day. It certainly helped that the northern winds blew away the chill of winter, rising the temperatures to a light cloak comfortable range.

He'd feared after the fire that she'd prefer to remain sequestered safe behind chantry stone, yet Lana all but champed at the bit to get free and drug her feet when they had to return. Either she was beginning to go stir crazy or his own wandering needs were transferring to her. In his heart, Cullen knew he had to say something. He was free of the Inquisition, and it was time to move on to the next stage of his life. But what did that entail? Would she... Lana mentioned wanting to be with him, except where would that be? What would that lead to? Could either of them honestly retire? Leliana was correct, without a cause Lana was likely to spark from one idea to another until she burned out.

Then it was the question if now was the appropriate time to be discussing his future, her future. They didn't talk about it, but more than a few nights Cullen would wake to her cries in the darkness. Concerned, he'd wipe away her mana, the attack causing Lana to whimper but slip back to sleep. He hated it, hated having to drain her, to hurt her, but he feared what would happen if he didn't. What would she do if he wasn't there to stop it? He'd seen mages run amok, split in twain as a demon erupted from their skin, every spell at their disposal pouring from their fingers. And Lana, she wasn't just any mage, she was trained to be beyond the best. She was honed to twist her body and mind beyond its limits to take down armies. She had to be.

"You look a million miles away," her voice called to him. Shaking his head, he turned away from the bobbing boats. Lightly, Lana traced her finger across his forehead, curling up a free hair that'd been tickling his skin.

"I was contemplating the boats," Cullen said, his eyes darting down to the ground.

Pursing her lips, she cocked a single fist onto her hip, "Right, then what's a schooner?"

"A type of pastry," he threw out, "only eaten during the middle of the day."

Lana chuckled, her hand curling up over her stomach as she bundled it warmer into her coat. Her other hand gripped tight to the cane, while Honor took up guard watching it. Neither of them were certain why she decided it was her job, but it seemed to make the mabari happy when there was no food to pilfer or children to play with.

After shaking her head, Lana turned back to gaze out at the river. "I like being on water," she said, her eyes trailing a small rowboat crossing under the bridge they sight-saw upon. Three people crowded inside it while only one worked the oars. The other two were having an involved discussion about the quickest route to Antiva, loudly enough anyone a good mile away could hear.

Cullen settled in beside her, his fingers gripping onto the railing. "Oh?"

"It feels like home, I suppose," she said. Nearly fifteen years she lived inside that tower surrounded by a lake, sequestered from the rest of civilization for the sake of the people inside, for the safety of the people on the outside. Taking the boat on and off the island was a slog, requiring such red tape most templars didn't bother. And yet Kirkwall, with ships constantly passing too and fro through the locks was ten times worse.

"That's probably why I hate being on water," Cullen whispered aloud.

"I didn't...I'm," Lana started, her fingers pressed to her lips to hide her frown.

Cullen screwed up his nose at his slip, "You did nothing. I'm not made of glass. I can mention the circles, talk about them. To some extent."

"So you'd rather live somewhere landlocked?" she said, trying to switch the subject.

"And you prefer a seaside resort. I'm certain the Divine has access to a few of those," he tried to play it off with a smile and a shrug of his shoulder but Cullen felt the words trip and plummet to the ground.

"What's been bothering you?" Lana asked, turning her back to the water. Her eternal eyes honed in on him, darting across his face as she reached out for his hand. "You said you'd tell me, remember. Promised."

"I..." he groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I suppose I did." He knew he had to talk to her about this, but by the Maker did it have to be now while surrounded by curious Orlesians? Lana loved him, he knew that, but...but what if that wasn't enough? While he could serve out his time as some diplomat for the chantry or another fancy do-nothing position the Inquisition dreamed up, Cullen knew in his heart he wouldn't. For the first time in his life he was free of a yoke he shackled on himself at thirteen. He could go wherever he wanted, do whatever he wished and the single fact reverberating through his mind was that this wasn't where he belonged. Orlais was not his home, and it never would be, but what of Lana?

Would she want to return to the Free Marches? It was her birthplace. What would they think of him, the Knight-Captain who let his Knight-Commander destroy the circle. Ferelden had been Lana's home country as well, perhaps more than any other. Would she want to set up roots in Denerim? Maker, could he deal with having Alistair that near at all times? Or there was Amaranthine itself? Would she and the king work some noble magic to install her once again as an Arlessa? In all that where would it leave Cullen?

These thoughts were what kept him up at night, when he wasn't worrying about Lana, about her magic, about the chantry, about the veil, about the state of thedas, and just general background worries. He knew he was working himself up into a lather, that a single conversation with her would solve it all, but...

What if she chose something he could not follow? By the Maker, how could he live with himself if he gave her up, if he walked away?

"Cullen," Lana spoke, breaking him from his internal torment. She reached her arm around his back and tugged him closer. Shuffling on his feet, he wrapped his hands around her for a tight embrace. Placing a kiss to her forehead, he heard a sigh rattle in her throat.

"I don't want things to linger between us, to get out of control," Lana explained. Her eyes darted up to his and she winced, "I'm still trying to figure all this relationship stuff out."

"Me too," he smiled, bumping his nose against hers.

"You can talk to me, and we'll figure it out. Whatever it is. I promise," her hopeful eyes gazed up at him, begging to release whatever catch he put on his tongue.

Maker's breath, he was being foolish. Cupping her cheek, he kissed her. "You're right. I...I've been thinking--"

"Commander!"

Without releasing his hold on Lana, Cullen glanced over his shoulder to look for the voice. A young man pumped his hand through the air as if he was trying to snag a carriage. Smiling brighter than seemed possible, the man hurried up his step and, as the afternoon sun lit up his features, recognition rose. "Lieutenant Darby?" Cullen stuttered.

"We've been trolling up and down this blighted city in hopes of spotting you, Sir!" Darby paused before them. If one could somehow transfer a pup into the body of a twenty something fair skinned, fair haired, and fair eyed man you'd have Darby. Over exuberant, impossible to sting, and friend to all he met, he was beyond memorable in his years serving the Inquisition. It's hard to forget someone who began, of all things, as a piss boy to a dead master who plucked up a sword and ran head long into the army.

"Hoping to spot me?" Cullen struggled quickly to keep up, "Wait, what we?"

"Ah, coursen that's me, forgettin' my own foot in places." Spinning around Darby waved behind him and shouted, "Eh! Fellas! I found 'im afor the rest of you!" The chipper Ferelden's cries rung across every mast and brass fixture in the area causing three more heads to rise from the crowd and begin to slide towards them.

Sporting the infectious grin that never left, Darby jabbed a thumb at Lana, "Seein' you ain't alone, neither."

 _Flames!_ Cullen felt a blush struggle to race up his skin as he realized he had his hand cupped against Lana's cheek. He tried to un-awkwardly remove his hand and slide away from her without making it look like he did it on purpose. Darby, in his fashion, either didn't catch on or didn't care.

Extending a hand to Lana, he smiled, "Nice to be making your pleasure, Miss...Or, is it Mrs.? Hopin' it ain't the last one or I'll be, oops, gettin' you into a bit of trouble on my own--"

"It's Lana," she interrupted Darby's tripping tongue as the rest of the pack arrived. Sure enough, Cullen recognized some of his close circle soldiers, a few of the lieutenants who kept track of their various battalions, the dwarven captain who ran between him and the other advisors, and...

A dreadful lump lodged in Cullen's throat as his eyes landed upon the woman with her braided hair tossed over her shoulder. "Addley," he said, trying to shake off the squeak.

Her eyes darted over to Lana for a moment, down the nearness of how her hands rested within reaching distance of Cullen, and then focused fully upon him, "Commander."

"The way I hear it, that title's been passed on to you. Rightly so, I'd add," he tipped his head to her. Addley's face flickered for a moment before she smiled, bowing her own head.

"I'm happy to try and live up to what you began, Ser." The burn increased from the way she smiled at him, a familiar one Addley would flash during meetings or the few downtimes they shared after.

"An' she's doing a right bang up job at it too," Darby inserted himself, slugging into the dwarven captain's shoulder. She sighed but laughed at the eternal pup's enthusiasm. "Sometimes more bang than not given what happened with the Avar."

"The Avar? But I'd thought we'd brokered a truce with them..." Cullen began, stepping right back into his old boots. Guilt of a different kind rose up through his stomach and he glanced over at Lana. She'd thrown on a patient smile, but her eyes kept darting over the faces trying to see if any would recognize her for who she truly was.

"Oh, aye aye, it ain't like that. Well, not entirely like it, but seein' how..."

"What the lieutenant is driving at is there was a small scuffle between one of their warriors and an Inquisition soldier, but the matter was solved," Addley interrupted.

"Yup, all done up shiny and quick. The weddin' was lovely too, lots of axe throwings over the happy couple."

"Axe throwings...wedding? Whose wedding?" Cullen shook his head, struggling to find any sense. He hated to admit it, but every time he reconnected with someone from the Inquisition he felt put off by all that he'd missed. Life kept on whether he was at the helm or not.

"It was Lyle and..." Addley began before sighing, "I'm afraid the story takes some time to tell properly."

"There were about a dozen giants involved at one point," the dwarven woman, Binla, spoke up.

"And a lake of mead!" Darby waved his hand through the air to try and conjure it up.

Cullen stampeded in the middle of it, "The giants were in a lake of mead?"

"Nah, nah, twas at the weddin'. Shame you missed it," his eyes wandered away from the Commander to Lana beside him. "Course, we may be getting an encore..."

"I heard nothing about this from the Inquisitor, or any of the others I met with," Cullen mused, complaining under his breath. He glared at the ground, not mad at any of his people but the trickle of time itself, when he felt a hand slide against his.

Turning, he spotted Lana, a whisper of a smile upon her lips, "You have plenty of time to catch up with them. Go on, have a drink, talk, carouse."

Ignoring the mob of soldiers -- his soldiers -- beside him, Cullen turned his full focus on Lana, "Are you certain? I wouldn't wish to put you out..."

Reaching over, Lana cupped his cheek before dragging her thumb across his lip and down the scar. She leaned closer to him to whisper, "I know what it means to check back in with old friends and those who shared with me. Besides," Lana slid away and raised her voice, "there's all of Val Royeaux to keep me entertained. I will be beyond busy."

Cullen wished he could tear himself in two, send one half off with his soldiers to speak of the old times and the new, while the other stood wrapped around Lana watching the ships list in the waves and plan for their future. He curled his fingers around hers, struggling to find a way to explain it, when her thumb rubbed against the back of his hand. The move was enough to shore up his heart. Smiling, he bumped his forehead into hers and whispered, "Very well, but take it easy."

Nodding at his request, Lana mouthed, "You worry too much."

"It's what I'm best at," he answered back in kind. Breaking away from her, Cullen glanced down at the dog sitting in rapt attention. "Honor, protect your mistress." Barking a few times, the mabari rose to her legs and slipped beside Lana, waiting for the woman to pet her head.

Sliding her cane under her, Lana brushed a few fingers over Honor's head before smiling at the crew. "It was a pleasure meeting you." They in turn nodded at her, doing their best to try and not gape at this unknown woman in Cullen's life. Glancing over at him, Lana gave one last order, "Cullen, I trust we can rendezvous later at Honor's bakery." He nodded, happy to sweep her up later.

She began to limp away, but turned and called at him, "And for the love of the Maker, do have fun."

The soldiers waited until Lana was around the corner, all of them standing at rapt attention. Of course it was Darby who broke the silence, "Well, that answers that."

"Answers what?" Cullen interrupted, worried that they'd all recognized Lana. He could swear them to secrecy but the fewer people who knew a secret the longer it kept.

Darby banged his fists together, "We been scratching our heads tryin' to figure out what was mighty enough to keep you from us. Now I gets it. Hey," he spun around to face down the rest of the crew, "who had that in the pool?"

"What pool?" Cullen tried to barge in as the rest of the soldiers fell to whispers.

Addley shouldered past the group forming an envious wall to keep their old commander out as they debated the winner's identity of their betting game against him. "Commander, I see Orlais hasn't fully ruined you," she smiled, tipping her head.

He felt foolish for feeling foolish. They'd never done more than exchange a few sentences here and there outside of work, played a handful of friendly chess games. But Cullen swallowed at Addley's not quite pained look skipping past his shoulder to where Lana turned a corner. Digging into his neck, he shrugged, "Given the change, perhaps it's best if you call me Cullen now. That goes for all of you."

The chittering about this pool and who won it paused as every eye darted over their once Commander, then back to the new one. Addley tugged at the end of her braid and lifted on her toes, "That will require some adjusting, I fear."

"Don't I know how that goes," he chuckled and the laugh darted through each of the soldiers sliding to ease at their old commander folding back in with them.

Addley smiled over her soldiers, and then slipped on the commanding presence she rarely wore outside of work, "People, we are thirsty and need to find ourselves a dark, dank, hole in the wall to invade for the next few hours. I'm talking the kind of place that'd give your mother a black eye for walking into it. You have your orders." Clapping and some half hearted hurrahs broke from the group followed by suggestions for the filthiest pubs and taverns they knew in Val Royeaux. Moving like a phalanx about to take the field, the soldiers fanned out into the streets taking their Commander's orders as seriously as any given out during war.

Smiling at them, Addley paused beside Cullen. "You're doing great with them," he praised her.

"I..." her crisp eyes darted up to his face before she turned back to watch them. It had to be his imagination that a flush broke over her cheeks. He put her in charge of the insurmountable often, from Kirkwall to the Inquisition itself. Picking up the pieces after the Inquisition changed hands to the Divine seemed a natural fit for her.

"Ser," Addley stuck out her hand and Cullen took it. "I'm glad that you've found happiness."

"Ah," any guilt in his system at abandoning them vanished, "thank you...Commander." That drew a bright smile to Addley's cheeks.

Dropping his hand, she turned back to her soldiers. "Shall we? I should warn you, Darby's discovered Diamond Back."

"Delightful," Cullen murmured, happily worming back in with the old group - at least for a few hours. When the tales were spun, the drink topped off, the no doubt naked Darby fished out of a well, he had Lana to return to and a future bright enough to seem unimaginable.

Shouting with enough fury half of Val Royeaux had to hear, Darby turned to Binla, "Are we not supposed to talk about the ol' Commander's little girlfriend?"

"Ancestor's right thumb, Darby," she groaned, shoving into his shoulder.

"What? She's pretty. Shorter than I'd have expected. I'd think the ol' Commander woulda gone for someone big 'n' strapping like the Seeker. Looked kinda familiar too."

"Do you ever shut up?"

 

* * *

She was happy to let him spend time with his soldiers. Maker knew there were moments at night Lana wished she could speak with her wardens again. To laugh at the same old inside jokes, fall into the familiar patterns, and... Lana shook her head, trying to wipe away the sting clinging to her brain. Every memory of her wardens was clouded by what happened to Nathaniel, to all of them at Adamant and beyond. There was nothing Lana could do that would make up for how she failed them, how she failed herself.

Honor barked and dropped a soggy ball at Lana's feet. The mabari pulled her from her maudlin memories back into the present where a dog waited for someone to throw the 'borrowed' yarn ball already. Sighing at the slobber soaked into the brown yarn, Lana picked it up and tossed the ball across the street. It skittered against an awning, bounding off a few tables in the distance where Orlesians sneered at the sight. When a good 70 pound mabari pummeled past their legs, knocking over empty chairs in pursuit of the ball, they all leapt away. Perhaps she should have felt bad to disrupt their lunch but the Ferelden part of her secretly laughed whenever Honor barreled through instead of around.

Maker, maybe she was spending too much time with Cullen.

"Excuse me, my Lady..."

Lana turned away from Honor, who was now trying to lap her ball out of the fountain, to find Detan standing behind her seat on the bench. The elf looked frazzled, her normally pinned and coifed hair splintered into tendrils. "Funny running into you here," Lana began, but the elf didn't focus on her. Detan's eyes kept dancing through all the denizens of the plaza as if hunting for someone specific.

"Do you, if you are of a mind to share, happen to know the location of the Commander?" Detan pivoted back and forth on her shoes, the end of her sentence almost fading away. It was as if she didn't even want to ask the question.

"I'm afraid not precisely, no," Lana admitted. "He met up with some of the soldiers from the Inquisition and they are more than likely heels up at one of the seedier pubs in Val Royeaux. As seedy as one gets here, anyway."

"He is not alone, I..." Detan blinked rapidly and swallowed. Bounding with all the happy force of a freed mabari, Honor skidded across the cobblestones to plop her ball in Lana's lap. "You have the dog with you," Detan narrated as Lana plucked the ball up with her bare fingers.

"Yes," Lana hurled it away from the people and down an alley while Honor renewed her chase, "he seemed to think I required an escort." She smiled at the mabari's exuberance before turning to Detan, "Is there something you need?"

"I...am, um," she bounced her hands that clung to piles of parchment but no clipboard, "have a few letters and other correspondence for the Commander to read. He will meet up with you later, then?"

"Most likely," Lana said.

"Do you know when?"

Lana shook her head slowly, "If these are a matter of grave importance, you could leave the documents with me. I'll get them to him." She reached out for the papers, when Detan reared back.

"No, they are...it is not vital they be attended to at the moment. I merely...spotted you and thought the Commander would be nearby. As that is not the case I shall return them to the office for later."

"Are you certain?" Lana asked, "If you're worried it'll get you into trouble I can cover for you. It's my fault he's wandered off, sort of."

"Cover for..." Detan's lips parted and she stared slack jawed at Lana as if she'd never seen the woman before. The moment passed instantly and she shook her head, "No, no, I require no covering. It is not a matter to concern yourself with. I...thank you for your time, my Lady." She bowed her head deep with that.

Lana began to rise from her seat so she could turn and ask if something was wrong, when a clattering and a scream echoed from the alley. Running without a care in the world came Honor around the corner. As she skidded to a stop beside Lana, she plopped what was clearly not a yarn ball in her lap. "Honor..." Lana began, lifting the dog's gift up to her face. "Return this hat to whomever you stole it from." Barking as if it was all part of the game, Honor's teeth bit into the brim and she scampered away, her tail proudly wagging.

After laughing at the dog's antics, Lana turned to resume her conversation with Detan, but the elf vanished. Mentally, Lana made a note to mention her erratic behavior to Cullen. He spent more time with her, perhaps he knew if she was having family or personal issues.

"You stupid dog!" cried out in Orlesian, a man in a soggy hat shaking his fist and trying to chase after the mabari returning to her mistress.

As Honor skidded to a stop before her, Lana sighed. "I suppose it's time we moved on. Silly girl."


	22. Ice

After walking some of the market while watching Honor draw many into her charming web, Lana spent the rest of the afternoon waiting at the bakery. Her baker friend was busy for most of the day, but he'd take a few moments here and there to thrust some new treat upon both mage and mabari with a wink and an insistence they tell him if it passed. Of course Honor approved of anything short of a five day old dead rat - and even that was optional - while Lana's palate was about as sophisticated as a finger painting. She couldn't tell the difference between a pork medallion covered in truffle scrapings verses pork butt smothered in mushroom gravy. It was all good as far as her never ending appetite was concerned.

Having nearly eaten the poor baker out of all of the remnants of his stall, the day was lengthening towards the fall of the sun when Cullen stumbled around the corner. Smiling up at him, Lana set aside the dog eared book Honor pilfered for her, "Finished already?"

Cullen tipped his head, his cheeks rosier than when she left him. Sliding in beside her, he moved to plop a hand onto the table for leverage but missed. Lana grabbed onto him before his miscalculation caused his chin to smack into the wrought iron. Laughing while hoisting him up, Lana said, "I'm guessing there were more than a few pints consumed."

"You could..." he shook his head, trying to clear the no doubt happy blue birds circling it, "something like that. Turns out there's an Orlesian whiskey that's far too smooth for the kick you get about ten minutes later."

"Oh dear." Lana'd never seen Cullen drink much. There was the bit here and there with dinner and after, of course, but he wasn't the type to snatch up a bottle and race to see who could finish it first. The poor man seemed ill prepared for the effects of whatever did him in, though the happy smile plastered upon his cheeks lifted her spirits without requiring any alcohol.

"It's...what was it called?" Cullen staggered back up, his hand absently reaching for a sword hilt that hadn't been upon his hip in over three months. "Petite Morte?"

"I, uh," Lana caught the curious glances turning towards the inebriated man who bellowed those words through the crowd, "I rather doubt that was it."

"Why?" his questioning face was so achingly naive, she didn't have the heart to explain.

"Just a thought," Lana began to reach for her cane, when she shook her head. "I'm not certain I can help guide you and myself back to the Cathedral."

"It's not an issue," Cullen tried to dismiss her concerns away and nearly stumbled backwards into a stationary chair. "I have it perfectly over control."

Stifling a laugh as the fearsome Commander turned upon the threatening chair and waved his brave fist at it, Lana slid forward and grabbed his slack one still struggling to find that missing hilt. "Regardless, allow me to help." Barely threading apart the veil, Lana slipped a small sobriety spell into his veins. Not enough to dampen the buzz he worked valiantly to achieve, but it cleared away most of the motor function issues.

Gasping as if he broke the ice diving into a freezing river, Cullen twisted his head while clarity rose in his mind. With a better control of his limbs, he stood up high and gazed about at the Orlesians curious into the drunk man's going ons. "By the void," he cursed.

"Sorry," Lana said, lifting her cane up and rising to her feet, "but I doubt I could literally drag you home and I feared you were about to reach that stage."

"No, no," Cullen worried the palms of his hands against his eyes, scrubbing them clean to face the real world, "it was appreciated. I'm...I cannot believe I let myself reach such a state of--"

Lana ran her fingers over his arm and gripped tight, "You were having fun, with your people. It's allowed."

"Not as the Commander...which I'm no longer," he smiled. "That will--"

"Take some adjusting, I know," Lana patted his cheek, fluffing up the hairs that could technically be called a beard. "Aside from seeing who would catch the nug king first, how was your visit?"

Cullen took some of her weight in their joined arms, so Lana only had to rely partially upon her cane. Trotting beside them was Honor, for once without her nose buried in the ground. Val Royeaux drifted off towards its dinner hour, the streets clearing of horses and most of the personable people. Soon it'd be the riffraff, trolling the night for their own fun in whatever form that took. But for now between night and day, it was peaceful, calm. A perfect ending to a long day.

While Lana guided them towards the Cathedral, Cullen regaled her with the stories from people she'd never met about lives she'd missed out on. She smiled and gasped or laughed when appropriate but had little to add. Regardless, it was nice to see him happy, relaxed. Cullen did his best to pretend when nothing was bothering him, no doubt out of fear that in her weakened state she couldn't handle it, but his avoiding the problem only made her grow more anxious. He'd been worrying holes in priceless rugs with pacing and pitting stone floors without noticing lately. In her heart, Lana wondered if he wasn't regretting his choice to turn over the keys as it were. But after having spoken with this Addley who took his place and the rest of their crew, he seemed more at ease than she'd seen in a long time, perhaps ever.

"Commander Addley and you seem to get on well," Lana said, realizing a silence fell after Cullen finished another of his stories.

"Ah, uh, you did? I mean, I suppose so, we've known each other since...she served in Kirkwall."

"And followed you to the Inquisition?" Lana asked. They'd limped their way away from the main thoroughfare down one of the windier streets, no doubt first laid by cattle driven to market. Now it was cobbled though they were chipping and pitted, with houses looming above them high enough to shadow all who walked it.

"Yes, I guess, we...she, I mean was loyal. Very loyal," a blush rose up Cullen's cheeks, his eyes darting around the sagging roofs festooned with laundry to dry in the northern winds.

Lana paused in her steps and turned to face him. Slowing his own steps, Cullen didn't glance down at her, but he did gulp a bit more. "Of course she is, she's yours."

"She...what? My what?"

"They all are, your people," Lana smiled, cupping his cheek. Cullen's wandering eyes snapped down to hers and a grateful laugh echoed in his throat. Sliding up on her toes, Lana whispered, "It's not hard to see why people would be fiercely loyal to you." Holding to his cheek for balance, she pressed her lips to his, tasting the remnants of this petite mort or whatever it was actually called. Sweeter than mead, Lana didn't taste the burn until she slid back from Cullen.

Butting his forehead into hers, he sighed, "You're the only one I want to be fiercely loyal to me now..." A panic lifted his eyebrows and he rose away, "That, uh, sounded better in my head."

Unable to stop her chuckle, Lana patted him on the hand, "Yes it did, but it's still sweet. What is it, Honor?"

Their dog paused in walking to plop on the ground. Her teeth gnawed up and down her foot not in the usual scratching way but as if something was bothering her. A whimper rolled through her nervous biting, and Cullen slipped free of Lana's hand to inspect it. "What's the matter girl? Step on something?"

In a moment's breath, Cullen dropped to a knee to help his dog when an arrow flitted through the air. It shattered apart against the cobblestones. If he'd been standing it would have embedded into his skull.

"What the...?" was as far as Cullen got, rising up to a sure footed position.

Instinctively, Lana yanked apart the veil and a barrier rose to cover all three of them. It locked in place just as another assassin's arrow flew through the shadowed air. Lana jerked her head back as she stared down the shaft that'd been aimed for her eye, now hanging suspended in the air. Yanking it in his hands, Cullen growled through the night air, "Archers along the walls!" Snapping the shaft in his fist, he threw it aside and moved to unearth a blade that wasn't at his side.

Footsteps echoed down the alley and from the rooftops, no doubt where archers were stationed. _Well good luck piercing this barrier._ Lana trailed her fingers through the fade reenforcing it, but that wasn't all. Rolling deeper than she'd dared reach since leaving the fade, Lana threaded a spell across her fingers in preparation.

Hissing backwards, Lana reacted when another arrow embedded into her barrier. As mana poured through her body into the world, the arrows caught ablaze charring to ash before they vanished on the wind. "They're coming from ahead of us," Cullen called, gesturing down the alley.

Atop the roofs, the sun crested from the clouds just in time to lance upon one of the archers drawing back the bow for another shot. Barely twisting her hand, Lana drew upon the frost that never left her side. She need not give any actual movements in real life to complete the spell, but with the archer's eagle eyes beaming down on her, the mage lifted her hand up and a spear of ice lanced up off the roof, impaling through the archer's chest and piercing out the neck. Blood gushed down the crystal clear ice, slowly melting it to free the twitching body, but it need not bother. Lana yanked it back, drawing the power through her to lance another against the second archer. This one was quicker than her contemporary and darted backwards from the attack, flipping in the air.

Too bad she forgot to account for the slick roof. Lana washed her hands down, coating the roof in ice and the not so sure footed assassin fell. Her head knocked against it before the rest of her body tumbled off the three foot story building to land like a rag doll on the ground. Both archers dead before they had time to even break through the first level of her barrier. Some assassins...

"Lana!"

Cullen shoved her away as a sword sliced towards her head. He had no weapon nor shield to defend with, but he faced off against the armed man, the assassin's face obscured by a rag knotted against his mouth. Whoever he was, he wasn't well trained, as he heaved his long sword too far forward, throwing off the balance. Cullen drew back a fist and pounded against the guy's jaw. His head snapped back, the kerchief flying up and half blinding him, but in his shock he snapped the sword up and it bit into Cullen's arm.

Blood splattered through the dirt, Cullen rearing back to avoid the mad swings of the man. "Drop down!" Lana screamed. Cullen didn't pause, only tumbled to the dirt without a second thought as fire of a thousand degrees spurted from her fingers over top of him. Every loss, every pang, all of her self hatred burned through her body into the man screaming as the mage immolated him alive. His shrieks echoed through the narrow alley, the assassin begging for anyone to save him, but it was over before it barely began. Charred to a crisp like fat dropped into the fire, the man's body slumped down and tumbled backwards, the blackened skin sticking to the wet cobbles.

Lana shook off her flames, drawing as much mana back into herself as she could before limping over to Cullen. Grabbing onto his arm, she spotted blood welling up over his tunic, the one without any armor under it because for the love of the Maker, they shouldn't need it. Not anymore!

"It's bleeding, but not life threatening. I can heal it..." Lana said, dragging her fingers over his arm. Cullen nodded, gritting his teeth when both of them turned from his wound to look down the alley.

Walking towards them dead center as if he owned all of Orlais was a man dressed in ill fitting armor. The pieces looked like they were all swiped from a different set, gaps evident where they should have been covered by chainmail. But what caused Lana's mouth to dry was the emblem someone took the time to paint across his chest - the sword of mercy surrounded by flames. The templar symbol. Folding out of the doors came another three people, two of them women, the last impossible to tell. Two carried bows aimed at them, while the last...oh Maker, had a staff.

Cullen sneered and reached for the charred man's sword, but Lana yanked his hand back. "It's too hot," she whispered, eyeing up the hilt of the sword that warped and melted from her fire.

Growling at that fact, Cullen parted his hands. "I'm unarmed, what am I to do?" She gripped onto his shoulder, then darted her eyes around hoping a solution would present itself.

"I'm afraid it had to come to this," the false templar said, striding closer towards them. Lana redoubled her barriers, but despite the notched arrows none of the others moved to advance.

"What do you want?" Cullen shouted. He glanced over at an unattended sweeping cart and imperceptibly began to slide towards it. _What was he doing?_

The false templar paused within hissing distance to them. He was young, perhaps the same age Lana was when she became a Warden, with features far too large for his face. Features he had yet to grow into. Chuckling under his breath, the man shook his head slowly. He gripped onto the sword barely notched against his thin hips and drew it free. The blade glimmered by the sun's setting rays.

"It won't matter to you what I want. Kill the Commander and his pet mage."

Every man and woman behind him screamed, a primal feral roar that they no doubt practiced to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies. But they weren't taking down random street merchants struggling to make a living. Lana growled at their attempt and, digging into her reserves, she threw up a barrier that could stop a trebuchet. The first round of arrows bounced harmlessly off it, scattering at their feet.

"What else ya got?" she jeered, trying to drag them out and throw them off. Glaring at the set, she dared both to make a move, when an archer drew her arrowhead across the ground and launched it quick. _Shit!_ Lana didn't have time to think; drawing back her hand, she flung a fireball at it fast. The arrow exploded harmlessly in the air, shrapnel raining down through the clouds. Glancing at each other once, both archers lined up more of the exploding shots, attempting to fire together.

"Cullen..." Lana called. He had to know she couldn't both defend them and attack at the same time.

Still chuckling as if the world was his by right, the false templar strode forward towards the mage with her eyes upon the sky. Lana was flinging every fireball she could at the arrows, popping them off one by one, but if she missed just one it could be the end. _How many of those blighted things were there?!_ She didn't watch the man walking towards her, the one with the sword aiming for her chest with plans to cut her down for no good reason.

The man drew back his sword, a prayer of all things dripping from his lips, and he drove it forward when Cullen caught the blade against the handle of a broom. The cheap steel skidded off the thicker wood, slicing it up, but Cullen kept hold of his makeshift weapon. He must have grabbed it out of the street cleaner's pile. Slotted against his arm was a bucket which he used to fend off the templar's next attack. Lana had to trust him to manage it, she had the rest of the company to take down.

"Honor!" Lana ordered to their mabari who'd stood at attention, "kill."

Once the word slipped from her lips, Honor bounded towards the templar. She tried to bite through his cheap armor while Cullen attacked from the front, leaving Lana with the archers first. Twisting her head, she drew up from deep inside of her an old spell that few mages knew any longer. Certainly not the kind to go throwing around at a moment's notice.

Parting her hands, she squeezed out the mana from her veins and a rain of hellfire thundered from the heavens to splatter against the archers. They dodged the first few, but Lana increased the tempo. She could hear their own explosives popping off from the extreme heat, flames dancing off the no longer wet cobblestones, while smoke buffeted through the alley. Blinding and stinging her eyes, Lana couldn't see her victims through the black haze as more of her fireballs caught upon the streets themselves. But there was no way anyone could walk away from that much power. It was like walking through a volcano itself. She caught sight of a fireball lighting up the roof of a house and directed her fade energy to put it out, when an arrow flitted inches above her head.

_No!_

Lana dodged down and redoubled her barrier. Another two arrows flew where she'd been before sticking in the air and both archers leapt out of the smoke. Ash stained, but otherwise unharmed, they aimed anew at both the mage and the man fighting off their leader. _How was that possible? How did they know to be prepared against fire?_ Instinctively, Lana reached back to find her ice but she faltered. _If they were resistant to fire, then would they be against ice as well?_

Stepping forward, Lana knew one spell in her repertoire none of them could stop. Drawing not from the primal fade but the darkness in her heart and the depths of her mind she feared to touch, Lana poured the eternal despair into the first archer. The woman's bow dropped from trembling fingers and she crumpled up as if the hand of the Maker himself squashed her like a gnat.

The second archer cried out for the first, but before she thought to turn on Lana, the same wall of death hit her. A horrific scream erupted from the second's throat, as she doubled up in agony. As energy drained from her body, Lana sagged against her cane, clinging tight to keep upright, but she had to keep going. The archers were down but not out. Summoning the force of nature itself, Lana lifted up her hands and drove them down. A sickening crunch echoed through the alley, drawing all attention to the two mutilated bodies, shattered bones splintering through skin and muscle, broken beyond repair. Blood, so much blood ran through the streets.

Lana staggered over, exhaustion curling up her legs as she surveyed the remainders. Using his broom as a staff, Cullen caught the false templar's swings well, deflecting each with it or the bucket. Honor leapt back and forth, mostly getting in the way, but distracting the templar enough he couldn't get in a proper thrust. When the mabari bit deep into his back leg, the man screamed, throwing his arm up, which was when Cullen barreled into him with his shoulder. The thin templar flew backwards, landing flat on his back while Honor hopped out of the way.

Cullen wiped blood off his cheek, his eyes narrowing upon the leader scurrying to get away. Nodding once at Lana, Cullen moved to finish the job when his steps faltered. He shook his head as if in pain, the bucket clattering first from his fingers followed by the broom. Making one step, he surged forward until his entire body crashed to the ground.

"No!" Lana tried to run forward to him, but she could at best hobble. _What happened? What could have...?_ In the distance she spotted the mage whipping away his hands. "Honor," she caught the mabari's attention before pointing at the man in robes, "kill that one." Bounding towards the man, the mage tried to throw every skill it had at the dog, but Lana reenforced a barrier and resistance upon the mabari. She watched while Honor leaped off the ground, jaws snarling as seventy pounds of pure muscle flattened the man to the earth. Teeth ripped into everything it could find, robes offering very little to stop that unbridled power.

Lana was so engrossed in helping Honor, she barely had time to notice the sword glittering towards her. Twisting her body, Lana lifted up her staff and fired a bolt of energy at the false templar. Except, it wasn't a staff, it was her cane. Fire burst from the end, charring over the man and sending him flailing back a moment, but canes weren't designed to hold that kind of power. The entire stick exploded into splinters, wood splattering through the air embedding slivers into Lana's hands and arms.

Without the balance, she tumbled forward onto her knees, pain jarring up her body and rattling her teeth. Blood dripped from her hands and down her arms where what was once her cane bit into her skin. Slowly, the false templar stepped closer to her, his sword extended down towards her beaten body. "All that effort," he tutted as if he had the upper hand, "and for what?"

Lana glanced over at Cullen laying behind her. He wasn't moving but she caught the shallow rise of his chest. _Thank the Maker for that. There was still time._ Turning back to the man, she glared up at him towering above her. He snickered at that, "Do not tell me you think you will still win. You can't even rise off the ground." Drawing his sword back, the man aimed for her head, "Foolish little mage, you weren't even supposed to be here."

He sliced his sword through the air with all the power in his ropey arms, but an inch away from striking Lana's skin it paused, hanging in the void as if it shattered into an invisible wall and stuck. Slowly, she lifted the edge of her lip up and chuckled a mirthless dirge at him. Paralyzed from the tips of his hair down to his puny toes, all the man could do was gaze forever at the woman slowly killing him. Knotting her fingers together as if in prayer, Lana rolled her final spell sending the man into spasms as she unleashed crushing prison upon him knotting up every organ in his body. It wouldn't kill him, but he'd wish it would.

Watching to make certain he was near death but not at it, Lana yanked her magic away. The false templar crumpled into a heap on the ground. She tried to reach to disarm him, but her spent and useless body refused to rise. "Honor, fetch his sword," she ordered. The bloody mabari trotted over and picked up the blade in her teeth, her stump of a tail twitching.

Satisfied that he wasn't about to cause any trouble, Lana turned back to Cullen, every healing spell at her disposal dripping from her fingers. She crawled along the dirty and blood stained ground, unable to move any other way, but needing to touch him to know he was okay. Almost gracing across his hand, a whistle blew from the end of the alley.

"Stop, in the name of the Empress!"

_No, she had to heal him..._

Lana ignored the order, reaching to feel for a pulse, to watch his breathing, when an armored glove wrapped around her thin wrist and yanked back. Shrieking in pain, Lana's body rolled forward to the dirt and the guard pushed down upon her back, digging her chest tighter to the stone.

"Shit, that's the Commander of the Inquisition!"

"No..." Lana gasped, "stop, let me help him." Her cries went ignored, the breath barely making it past her lips. Fingers dug into her limp body and yanked her up off the ground.

"What do we do?"

"Get a damn healer over here for him. Last thing we need is losing one of them on our watch."

"Honor," Lana wheezed, glancing over at the mabari trying to trail after the woman being dragged through the streets, "guard Cullen." The mabari paused, no doubt torn between who to follow, but dutifully trotted back to the man laying crumpled on the ground.

"What about the survivors? What do we do with them?"

Exhaustion crawled up through Lana's depleted veins, cottoned her weary brain, and slowed her thudding heart. With her head hanging down, she felt her hands being pulled by the man tossing her around, and heard, "Same thing we always do. Finish the job."


	23. Rebellion

Shame lodged in his stomach like a satiated serpent while a woman in white clucked her tongue and over bandaged his arm. A sleep spell; of all things it was a Maker cursed sleep spell that took him down. Sure, he was grossly out of practice, was distracted by that amateur swordsman - often the most dangerous to take on - and had enough alcohol left in his system to amplify the spell through his veins, but he should have shaken it off. It was what templars did. Disoriented, Cullen woke shielded behind a hastily tossed up curtain. Judging by the stack of crates overstuffed with plucked feathers for his medical bed he'd guess he was near the butchers, an upholsters, or a particularly strange Orlesian fashion house.

"Hold still, Commander," the woman fussed, winding even more of a never ending roll of linen around his arm. It was futile, the cut barely a scratch. All it needed was a splash of alcohol to clean the wound and one or two stitches. He'd done worse by hand after Haven fell when they were short on everything. But he wasn't just anyone now, and people with fancy titles got the best medical treatment whether they asked for it or not.

Cullen's free hand draped down off his lap to skim over Honor's head. Apparently, she'd stood guard over his body all but shoving aside anyonewho'd dare to hurt him. In truth, Cullen was surprised he didn't wake to her sloe eyes shoved in his face as Honor perched upon his chest. For being a great war hound, she seemed to be under the impression her true calling was as a lap dog.

"All right," the healer snipped off the end of her linen. Cullen was grateful that was over, his arm was padded enough it could probably take a mabari bite without feeling anything. Pushing her scissors into an apron pocket, she smiled, "I think one more roll should do it."

"NO!" he cried, then dropped his voice, "no, it's quite all right. I'm good. Thank you."

"Hm," the woman pursed her lips. Despite having the constitution of an elderly woman she looked at most fifty, her face only puckered around the eyes and mouth. "You were out for awhile there. Can you feel any damage done to your brain?" She knocked a finger against his skull as if flicking a fly. Instinctively, Cullen snagged her hand in his, earning him a glower. More of that shame kicked up in his gut, and he slowly lowered her fingers away from him as he sat up.

"If there was any, how would I know?" he said sliding his feet to the floor. Someone took the time to yank his boots off while he was under.

"Word is there were blood mages about," the woman said while fishing some other tincture out of her apron, "Did you feel any of them poking around in your mind?"

Trying to not flinch, Cullen didn't ruminate upon her words. This was not the place nor the person he'd want to remember his traumatic past with. Instead, he rolled an eye over to her jostling a bottle free of her apron, "That has no effect."

"Nonsense. Elder Jessup's Legendary Tonic," she read off the label as if he couldn't see it in its magnificent sized font stretching around the amber glass. "It'll cure any blood mage taint right out of you."

He'd heard that bandied about before, in particular during and after the blight. In that case, that magical elixir was supposed to cure anyone of the darkspawn taint. After Kirkwall fell, it transformed overnight into the only way to free yourself from a blood mage's control. And when that wasn't your greatest concern it also acted as a baldness and impotence cure. The most versatile potion in all of thedas. Cullen would often load crates of the damn things into the trebuchets to calibrate them. Lies did no one any good, certainly not against blight or blood mages.

Shoving aside her offered hand as gently as a breeze, Cullen smiled, "There were no blood mages in attendance." The woman looked about to argue, so certain she was with her information, when he threw down his cards, "I was a templar, after all. I know a blood mage when I see one."

"As you say..." she began, when a commotion drew her to glance through the white sheet. "Oi, we're healing back here. No one's allowed in."

Two guards stood at attention during her ministrations, mostly in that slouching, not certain why they needed to be there attention, but now they snapped upright and rigid. Hands drifted towards hilts, until a woman dressed in truly pristine white barreled through them.

"Your Worship!" the healer paled, dropping to a knee. Honor barked in recognition at Leliana while Cullen only patted his knees and kept looking around for his shoes.

"Maker's breath," Leliana sighed, "I just heard. What happened?"

"Ambush," Cullen said, sliding one boot on and reaching for the other. "Not the prettiest fight, but we..." He paused, and whipped his head up at the Divine, the solitary Divine. "Surely Lana would have told you what happened."

"Lanny? She's not with me. I only received word a moment ago and raced over here to find you."

Cullen grabbed onto Leliana's hand and towered above her, "What you mean she's not with you?!" The sound of metal drawing from a scabbard slithered through the air. Slowly, he released the Divine and slunk an inch back holding both hands up to show he meant no offense, but his heart pounded madly. A fear dried out his tongue dried, sticking it tight to the roof of his mouth and he stammered through it. "I woke alone, no one else here but Honor. I assumed Lana was with you, waiting for me to wake. I..."

Maker, saying it aloud he realized that never would have happened. She wouldn't have left him alone, not unless she had no choice. Not unless... "No," Cullen shook his head. He'd assumed that Lana won, she was the Maker damned Hero of Ferelden. Surely she took down the rest without a second thought, and then... His eyes met Leliana's and a gurgle swallowed down his throat. _Where was she?_

Leliana spun on her heels and marched up to the guards, "Were you at the disturbance?"

"Yes, Your Perfection."

"There was a woman there: short, dark skin, wearing a blue dress. What happened to her?"

"I don't know, Ma'am."

The holy Divine, shepherd of all of southern thedas, wrapped her hands around the soldier's collar and tugged him into her wrathful face. "What do you mean you don't know?"

He gulped, his eyes widening in terror as he struggled to not make any move against the Divine. "We were only supposed to watch him," he nodded his wobbling chin at Cullen, "carry him to safety. The other guards, they handled the clean up."

Cullen bullied into the middle of them, "Clean up?"

"Yeah," the second spoke, "it's standard procedure to do clean up. Take everything away so the population don't get panicky, ya know."

Tugging the beleaguered guard out of Leliana's hands, Cullen's fingers dug deep into the man's shoulder. He yelped as his thin plating pinched tighter into a nerve. Drawing the man close to his eyes, Cullen breathed, "Where do you take them?"

Gasping like a suffocating fish, the man laid out the address in fine detail before Cullen dropped him to his trembling knees. Snatching up anything of his he spotted, Cullen whistled to Honor to follow and stormed through the privacy sheet. "Come on, we have to find her..." he began before Leliana stepped up beside him.

She placed a finger into her mouth and whistled. A pair of horses drew up almost instantly, their breath steaming in anticipation of a run. "Let us get there quickly."

 

He expected to draw up next to a jail of some sorts, at least a building the city's guards could house law breakers in until deciding their fate. The address given to them led not into the bustling crowded section of the city but a field rotted with broken sections of old buildings prodding out of barren soil. Some fire or disaster having wiped away what was one there and never deemed worthy of rebuilding. As the horses drew up beside it, a numb chill wrapped through Cullen's gut that had nothing to do with the misting rain. Leliana pointed a finger at a pair of uniforms standing guard above a drop in the land. He leapt off his horse first, boots skidding in the mud as Honor turned the far corner running to catch up. Barely bothering to grab the reins, Cullen extended a hand to Leliana to help her down but he needn't bother. The Divine plummeted off, giving no attention to the muddy ground assaulting her holy hemlines.

Wiping off the fine sheen coating her face from the rain, Leliana puffed out her chest and used her Divine voice on the guards. "You there!"

The pair stopped chattering among themselves and turned a terrified eye upon the Divine. Both glanced behind to make certain she was speaking to them before touching their chests as well.

"There was a disturbance earlier in the Cantique d'espor district."

"Yes, your most Divine," the first guard spoke, bobbing a helmeted head downward to glare at the mud soaking through his boots.

"We're looking for someone that was involved," Leliana continued, folding her hands up. "She's short, dark skin, wearing a blue dress." Every time Leliana summed up Lana the pounding increased against Cullen's temples. It seemed impossible that so few words could describe the light in his heart.

"Oh, well, you can take a look," the guard turned around and pointed at the ditch behind him.

_No._

No, that had to be wrong.

It couldn't be...

The guard turned back to Leliana who was stumbling to keep her face neutral. He smiled at her and added a jolly, "But it's a right mess down there."

Slowly, as if walking to his own pyre, Cullen slid towards the edge of the small ravine. No, not a ravine. It was a mass grave dug out by erosion and rains, then helped along by a few shovels tossed to the side. Bodies lay crumpled in a pile at the bottom, each one tossed unceremoniously over the edge, no doubt by the two guards trying to strike up a conversation with the stricken Divine. He tried to glance down, hoping to look quickly over the corpses and not find any proof but it was impossible to tell. The murky world of dusk combined with rain wiped away almost all color from the world. Mud splattered across the few visible inches of skin, rendering them all featureless.

No.

_Maker, not now. How can You be so cruel?_

He couldn't lose her now.

Anger stampeded over grief, and giving no heed to his damp clothes, Cullen slid down the incline. It was so steep he had to lean into it, coating the front of his tunic in mud as well as the bandage. None of that mattered, a red haze rising behind his eyes as he surveyed the corpses of those that tried to kill him. That might have killed...

_No._

Dropping to his knees, he yanked over the first body to reveal a pale face, the eyes rolled back in a never ending horror. Scarlett blood coated the clothing, clots clinging to the tattered holes where snapped bones prodded through. Sneering, Cullen tossed that one aside and moved to the others. Each one looked much the same, pale and haunted. One had an obvious broken neck, the head flopping about like a broken puppet. Probably who Lana caused to slide off the roof. None of them her, none of them could possibly be her.

He wanted to breathe a sigh of relief but there was the last body. The skin wasn't brown but black, charred to a crisp. Sections ripped free as the garrison drug it towards its grave, revealing crimson sinew and muscle below, all of it stilled forever. The damage was so severe it was impossible to tell who the corpse was before.

"Cullen..." Leliana's voice echoed from above him, the most haunting sound he'd ever heard from her. The Left Hand, the Inquisition's spymaster, was too terrified to peer in and see for herself.

"I don't see her," he said, and the Divine sighed in relief. "But, there's a corpse here that's unrecognizable. Fire destroyed it, which could have been Lana's doing or..." He detached himself. He had to. Cullen couldn't think he was pulling apart a pile of bodies searching but not wanting to find the woman he loved. It was the only way he could get through it without withering to the ground in agony.

A solitary sob echoed from above, Leliana jamming a fist in her mouth to keep from breaking down. Cullen dug across the charred body's hand, searching but hoping to not find the ring Lana wore. "I'm not, I..."

Andraste, what was he doing?

The hand plummeted from his own to return to the corpse's resting place, but flakes of the scorched skin stuck to his own flesh. Flakes that could have been Lana's.

Maker, no. Please no.

Not after everything. Cullen dropped to a knee, exhaustion or worse dragging him down to join the dead. Suckering into the mud, he sank deeper, his hand splaying out beside the impaled throat of a woman who'd tried to kill him only a few hours earlier.

_Why?_

"If um," the guard spoke, knocking his hands together, "if you can't find what you're looking for, they might have it down at the precinct. They took three capture."

"What?!" Leliana spun on the guard, the full wrath of the Maker thundering from her as she cried, "Capture? Alive! Why didn't you say that earlier?!"

"Ah..." the man danced back and forth, inching closer to the pit of death to try and avoid the Divine's rage. The temptation to say 'because you didn't ask' danced around his obvious tongue but he held it in check. "Not certain, Your Perfection. Sorry. They're down that street, take a left then beside the..."

"Yes, yes," Leliana waved a hand through him, "I know the blighted way." Reaching over, she stared down at Cullen who staggered to his feet.

_Alive. There was hope._

Trying to scrabble up the incline, Cullen grabbed onto Leliana's proffered hand and rose away from the bodies. His clothes suckered to his body, the mud slick as ice from the increasing rains but none of that mattered. Nodding once at Leliana, he snatched up the reins of his horse. She did the same, already saddled while he was working his foot into the stirrups.

They turned their horses around, the Divine taking the lead again as she knew the way, when the second guard spoke up. "Ma'am, you should know one of the captives they took in was a mage."

Leliana and Cullen shared a look, hope blooming bright.

Staring between them, the guard continued to relay her news, "The injuries on that one were severe and they tried to save 'em, but..."

Without another word, the wind rushed from Cullen's lungs. He sagged downward, folding in on himself until his face skimmed near the horse's mane. But... Maker, no. How could he had failed her? She was winning when he last saw her, before he...he failed. His weak body broke down from a damn sleep spell leaving her alone, vulnerable. _No!_

Something tugged his horse forward and he rose up to watch Leliana sitting rod straight in her saddle. She glared at the guards yet didn't speak to them.

Her voice only thundered in Cullen's direction. "We must head to the precinct. If not to find her, to..."

Rippling with the wrath of a fire hotter than anything a mage could conjure, the anger took control over Cullen's body. Yes, if they lived, the ones who...who hurt her, they'd pay. Snatching up his reins, he dug into his horse's flank and drove it into a gallop. Behind them the rains washed away the names of those fallen assassins.

 

* * *

 

Water dripped down the walls to pool in a divot upon the pitted floor, green mold sprouting from its attention. Lana tried to stretch away from it but her body was beyond her reach, every inch of her skin enflamed from her constant mana pooling, pain rattling the fibers of her soul. Gently, she drug her tingling fingers across the cold ground causing the manacles around her wrist to rattle. When was the last time Lana had been chained?

Sure, she'd been imprisoned a fair bit over the years. Usually while undercover for the grey wardens or other reasons, but people rarely had the gall to shackle up the Hero of Ferelden. Even when she was trespassing upon pain of death they preferred to kick her into a deep, dark hole and secretly wait for her to break out instead of dealing with the headache of finishing the job.

Ah, yes. It was Drakon. When she woke from their capture to screams of Loghain's torture victims to find Alistair... Lana couldn't stop a foolish blush from that memory. They could have died, were facing Maker only knew what at the hands of Loghain, his turncoat daughter, or one of Howe's goons. And yet, she couldn't take her eyes off him stripped of everything but his underclothes. Andraste, why did he had to wear such small, well, smalls?

Returning to the tower after was awkward not just for her, but the new King as well. They'd barely spoken a word to each other while chasing after the archdemon, their greatest work yet ahead of them, and Lana still stewing over Alistair's decision to cut her from his life. But there was a moment when they both spotted the door that led back to their cell, the one they lied their way through to freedom that Alistair's eyes landed upon hers and she almost saw regret.

The guards who snatched her up this time and manacled her hands - as if that could stop a mage - hurled her into a cramped cell upon her stomach. She landed onto the stone floor, her remaining breath bursting from aching lungs while water dripped near her face. In the corner, she spotted a stack of straw for sleeping but Lana was beyond crawling to it. What she needed was to rest, to recuperate, and to try to dampen down the headache burrowing through her skull.

Which would be much easier to accomplish if it weren't for the man in the cell beside her and his constant jabbering. The false templar had carried on and on from the moment he woke up to the point Lana wished she'd severed his vocal cords during the fight. A never ending diatribe perforated her ears whenever she tried to shut her eyes and chase the fade.

"What are you doing, mage?"

Sighing, Lana plopped her hands down on the stones extended from her face. Without any true templars, they'd left a random guard in charge of 'watching the mage and making sure she didn't do any spell casting.' Since he had no concept of true magic or what puncturing the veil looked like, he assumed her slightest movements were cause for concern.

"I am breathing," she said, struggling to roll to the side. From her vantage point, all she could see of the guard were his shoes - worn to the near breaking point with a toe prodding from the top - and up to his knees. The uniform was better tended but covered in mud at the hems and wet. Most likely it began raining sometime during her capture or perhaps after. She'd been a bit in and out of it as her mind tried to shelter her from the pain shattering her veins.

"Fine," the guard harrumphed, "but don't go throwing any fireballs around here."

"As you say," Lana said trying to part her hands. With the crushing weight upon her gaunt wrists she could barely move them. Blinking, Lana struggled to lift her head, "Ser, could you tell me? Do you know if Cul...The Commander, did he survive?" She gritted her teeth, terrified of the answer while needing to hear it.

But the man didn't damn her heart or lift it. He stomped a foot and snarled, "Wouldn't you like to know."

"Yes, that is why I asked..." she began when the damn man in her sister cell piped up in his raspy scream.

"He's dead. Destroyed. Broken, as the chantry shall be! The Inquisition's traitor templar destroyed. It will be war, you sheep who cower in your little homes. You'd rather collar yourselves to the whims of a few robes than face the truth. Let them build their college, let them destroy the very fabric of society we built! Not anymore! The war is coming." He giggled, so certain of his prowess. "The war is coming."

"Maker," Lana groaned, her eyes rolling skyward, "if You don't take him, at least take me."

The guard seemed to be sick of it as well, having to overhear the same basic idea for the last hour and half. Templars good, mages bad, reigniting war only hope. He liked to throw around sheep often as well, which made Lana dream of stuffing a ram in his cell and seeing who got out alive. Darting ahead quickly, the guard slammed a hand against the bars causing the shrieking man's thought to vanish.

"Quiet down!" the guard shouted gruffly before sliding back to watching over Lana as if she was the real threat. She snickered in the back of her mind; in truth she was, but not now. Give her time for feeling to return to her fingers and the mana to shore up her body and she could easily blow a hole through the wall. For now, laying on the ground was preferable, and with the jabbering idiot silenced it seemed possible.

"You're going to die."

Or maybe not.

She hadn't spoken a word to the idiot since he woke, preferring to leave him to the machinations of the Val Royeaux guard force. But seeing as how they only knew to toss both of them into cells and ignore it, her options were limited. Glancing once over at the guard leaning back against the cell across from her and in no mood to silence the man, Lana spoke up. "Is that so?"

"How long's he been keeping you, like a pet? Poor little lap mage that barks when ordered at the big templars whims and for what? You're gonna hang for his death."

"So will..." she scrunched up her nose, struggling to keep up with the man's madness. "Wait, I thought you loved templars and hated mages."

"He was no true templar."

Oh, Maker. Not the true templar argument. This man was truly beyond reason.

"No templar would allow mages, known malifecarum to walk free before his nose. He would cut them down before letting their shadow fall upon him."

"Is that so?" He knew nothing of templar or chantry law, she was certain of that. Which made it an even bigger question of what was driving these people.

"All mages should be corralled, controlled, brought to their knees to either serve the cause or be eliminated."

"Right," Lana shook her head, placing her cheek tighter to the cold ground.

She saw it before they yanked her away, Cullen's chest rising in a breath. He wasn't dead, not when she left him, couldn't be. But what if... No, Lana shook her head, they would have brought in the best healers in Val Royeaux to help him.

If they weren't fast enough...

A twang, as if a lute string stretched too far, snapped inside her mind. Digging her fingers into the ground, she imagined that chattering man's neck beneath them as he gasped for breath. The only thing keeping him alive right now was the fact she knew nothing of Cullen's fate. If he...Andraste preserve her, but if that bastard did manage his goal then he would wish she'd have killed him on the streets. Their entire false templar order would pay, everyone who ever worked for them, who passed information. She would tear the entire structure down one by one, leaving them jibbering husks as a warning to the rest.

You want to pith mages, well mages can do it right back.

"Mage..." the guard warned.

The red haze around Lana's vision faded and she spotted sparks dancing across her fingers. She hadn't meant to split apart the veil like that. It called out to her, through her mind without a thought. Even out of practice and with barely the ability to stand, mana sang to her, the fade itself percolating through her blood.

"Sorry," Lana muttered, trying to tap down on vengeance stringing every nerve in her body. It would have to wait. She needed to take inventory, time, prepare before unleashing the full wrath of the Hero of Ferelden.

The chittering idiot kept up, thundering how soon he'd hear the lamentations in the streets. People'd call for the extermination of all mages for taking down the Inquisition's templar, the chantry would fall in ruins. She tried to drown it out, humming a song under her breath to combat the blood rushing through her ears. Lana didn't even realize what the lyrics were, each one echoing louder in her scratchy throat, until she all but screamed "Lion of the Sky!" at the wall.

Silence broke, the false templar's chattering fading in surprise. It wasn't the heartbroken woman who cried out the song devoted to Cullen, but wrath itself given form. She snarled the final syllable, her throat rasping in anger to lift her from the depths of despair and aim it all to a purpose. The energy faded as soon as it struck, and Lana flopped back to the floor, her bubbling emotions costing her. Water from the rains outside dribbled against her face, trying to clear away her own salty tears.

"Mage..." the guard began.

"I'm not doing anything," Lana said, shoring any whimper out of her throat. She was in no position to show weakness, perhaps never again.

"Stand up, mage!" the guard ordered, his feet slotting to attention.

Lana snorted, her fingers splashing in the puddle, "Shall I pluck a star from the sky while at it. It's about as likely to occur."

"I said..." the guard hissed, when a new voice growled over top.

"Show them to me, now!"

Bolting up, Lana ignored pain in 97% of her body at that voice. That dusky, occasionally awkward voice etched across her soul. "Cullen..." She staggered upon her hands and knees, crawling towards the door, hope dragging her onward. Unable to stand, she stared up muddied boots, pants, and a barely evident green tunic to find his face. Maker, his beautiful, living face. Cullen's deep scowl shattered to be replaced by a grateful shock. He patted his fingers against his mouth before grabbing onto the arm of the guard who'd been harassing her all day.

"Open the damn door," Cullen shouted. Fumbling around with the chain upon his belt holding only three keys, the guard attempted to do as ordered while casting a glance back at Leliana.

Lana spotted her friend out of the corner of her eye, but her full focus was upon the man who lived. "You're..." she reached her fingers through the bars needing to touch him. Cullen seemed to feel the same, as he caught her hand and held it tight.

"Move back, prisoner!" the guard ordered, before a deadly glare from both the Commander and Divine fell upon him. Squeaking, he added, "Please."

"That isn't necessary," Cullen shoved the man aside and, in one quick move, yanked open the door and swooped Lana up off the floor into his arms.

Maker, she melted into his embrace, singing praises to the prophetess for guarding him. Mud suckered to her clothes, Cullen coated in it, but she didn't care. "I was so scared I lost you," Cullen whispered, his voice hoarse.

"Me too," she admitted. Lifting her weary arms, Lana tried to wrap her hands around him, but the manacles snagged together, keeping her bound between their bodies.

Cullen glared down at them, then yanked the guard towards her. Hissing, he ordered, "Take those off of her, now."

"Ah but Ser, she..." the guard started before swallowing deep.

"She what?!" Cullen dared, burning upon the shrinking guard every power at his command.

Yelping once, the guard picked up Lana's heavy wrists and tried to insert the key into them. His hands trembled so, the key skipped back and forth missing the lock each time before Lana grabbed his wrist and guided it in. Whispering a prayer under his breath, the guard unclasped the manacles and yanked them away. Freed of the unbending weight, Lana glanced her fingers across the pain upon her wrists before wrapping both arms tight around Cullen and burying her face in his chest.

"They wouldn't tell me anything, I didn't know if you..."

"I had no idea what happened to you. They said a mage died, and I feared..."

"Never do that again."

"Never do that again."

Both laughed at their synchronized order, tears dripping through the relieved chuckles. Cullen framed his hands around her cheeks when his thumbs glanced upon a sore spot and Lana winced. "My cane, it exploded when I...I'm going to need a new one," she felt like a child requesting another blanket because she accidentally burned the last one.

Leliana laughed, her fingers clinging to Lana's elbow, "Anything you need. It's no bother. Blessed Andraste, we were concerned."

"Concerned?" Cullen scoffed. "I was terrified and..." he mashed his forehead against Lana's even while holding nearly all her weight in his arms, "Feared my heart was going to give out."

"Don't you dare," she ordered, waving a finger near him.

"Never, not while you need...not while you want me." He didn't kiss her, not while all the guards they no doubt blew through to find her looked on but Cullen brushed his fingers across her lips and she gently pressed against them. He tasted of mud and a bitter ointment, but it was Cullen underneath and that was all that mattered.

Wrapping his arm around her waist, Cullen began to walk Lana slowly out of the jail and towards the door. She struggled, barely able to move as she shuffled against the filthy floor slowly filling with leaking rain water. Leliana rubbed her back for a moment, her own grateful smile in place before she snapped it away to stalk ahead. The Divine was going to shove any onlookers away to give Lana and Cullen freedom to leave unhassled. Lana limped away from her cell, her fingers digging into Cullen's shoulder when her head turned and she spotted _him_ \- the man who nearly crushed her happiness. His limp fingers clung to the bars, wide eyes watching the proceedings.

Rage enveloped her body, knocking away the pain. Faster than anyone thought possible of the broken mage, Lana snarled forward, her fingers knotting around the false templar's filthy tunic. Magic poured out of her, dragging the man further to the ground until his knees buckled. Hissing like a mountain lion about to rip out a throat, she hauled him tighter to the bars, pressing his nose against it.

"Pathetic worm. I know your kind, I can see it in my mind. Weak, worthless, incapable of creating anything of your own. You think your only way of making a mark is destroying what others have. What others have worked their hands to the bone to create, to preserve." Heat gushed out of her, wrapping across the man's body. At first a flush charred his cheeks a bright red, sweat pouring free, but as she kept holding him the fire ramped up, burning across the first layer of his skin.

"What are you...?" the guard began, but the Divine snapped up at him, cowering him back to the corner.

"You have failed. Everyone you commanded is dead by the hand of that pet mage you couldn't tame. The one unable to stand. Dead, broken, and all that remains is you. Do you know why I left you alive? Because you weren't worthy of killing. You'll bear the blame for attempting to kill the Commander, while your little rebellion is smothered in the crib. You have nothing to your name, nothing to your arm, your little group will burn from inside, all will scatter like ash on the wind, while you hang stretched by your neck before a jaded audience that won't even bother to know your name."

As the smell of burnt hair reached her nose, Lana released her hold and the man fell backwards, trying to scatter away from her vengeful stare. So cock certain that he'd won even after being captured, his entire world crumbled before him while the tiny woman he'd taken as nothing glared victory down at him. Her eyes traveled down to a puddle rising up beside his boot. "Look upon the great iconoclast who wets himself before dancing to the gibbet's tune. None shall remember you, none shall care."

Having finished her diatribe, Lana turned from the man who tried to take everything from her and all her rage vanished. She buckled towards the ground, but Cullen scooped her up. Unable to even manage part of her weight on her abused legs, he pulled her fully into his arms snuggling her tight his chest. Lana pushed her face against him as she began to tremble, the anger and heartbreak retreating quickly from her body. Walking crisply, Cullen carried her past the other cells, most empty, to the front room. He whispered a soft question into Lana's ear, "You didn't actually look into his mind?"

"No," she admitted, shaking her head, "I only said that to scare him. He was ranting and raving for hours before and it didn't take much to size him up." Cullen didn't physically sigh in relief, but she watched him sag a moment.

"Your Worship," one of lead guards stood before Leliana and tried to catch her fingers to kiss a ring, but she kept them wound up tight to her elbow. "Forgive us, we had no idea that this was a friend of yours."

"And that gives you fair excuse to mangle her, leave her nameless and alone to freeze upon a water logged floor?"

"Leliana," Lana cut into her friend's anger. "Let it go, please." She sneered once at the guards, all of them cowering, but obeyed Lana's wishes. More than exhaustion and pain beat against Lana's body and heart; the despair she'd destroyed the others with lapped across her own soul. Burying her face into Cullen's chest, she whimpered, "I want to go home."

"There's a carriage outside," he said, his lips pressed close to her forehead, "it'll take us back to the apartments."

"No," Lana shook her head against him, "I want to go home. To Ferelden."

"We...uh," he glanced over at Leliana who bit her lip and glared at the ground, "we'll do our best, but right now we should get cleaned up. Okay?"

He clung to his nursemaid routine, but she could hear a crackling in his words, a tremor to his lip. Cullen was clinging to a thread himself. Cupping his cheek, Lana stared into those amber eyes she nearly lost and smiled, "Of course it's okay."

Without saying a word, Leliana threw open the door only to be greeted by the mabari forced to wait outside. Honor tried to bark but a stick, easily four feet long and a good two inches thick, rested in her powerful jaws. "Where did you...?" Cullen began.

"It seems Honor found me a new cane," Lana said.


	24. Betrayal

Leliana opened the door to the apartments, perhaps her first time turning a knob since she became the Divine but Cullen had his hands full helping Lana. Not balking for a moment at having to perform a moment of manual labor, Leliana ran her fingers across Honor's scruffy head. She'd driven the carriage as well, nudging over the patient driver and often glancing back as if to make certain Lana was still alive.

Taking her time, Lana filled Leliana in on what she could remember of the attack, how both organized and sporadic it was. For her part, the once spymaster only nodded grimly and said little beyond asking for clarification. No doubt, she intended to keep her findings away from Lana for fear of endangering her friend or causing a relapse. That idea caused Lana to smile internally to herself while she clung tight to Cullen's hand. They both held each other without letting go, as if they shared the same fear that either could vanish in smoke at a moment's notice.

With the use of Honor's stick, Lana hobbled into their room, her eyes upon the divan. Cullen kept a hand softly smoothing up and down her back as he guided her. She tried to ask about the wadding of bandage around his other arm, but he dodged the question, barely pausing to take account of his pain in favor of hers. Leliana entered first, widening her arms and smiling. "I don't know about you, Lanny, but after the events of the day I could use a stiff drink."

Lana snorted, "Tempting, believe me, but with my mana so low it'll not end well." She felt her friend's eyes watching her limping across the floor, trying to gauge how deep the scars reached this time. It was exhausting at times to have her friends know the price the full fury of her magic could cost, but Lana wouldn't trade their love for anything, even if it did reach beyond overbearing.

"As you say..." Leliana said watching Lana and Cullen slide together deeper into the sitting room. "But I happen to have a bottle of Tevinter gin that might change your mind." She smiled wide at her friend, that old bard wickedness drifting across her face when a soft cough drew both their attention.

Detan stepped out of the bathroom, her sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She bowed once to the Divine before speaking, "I drew the bath as you requested, and I left as many ointments and salves on hand as I could find upon the counter."

"Thank you," Leliana said, tipping her head to the assistant as well.

"Do you..." Detan's murky gaze drifted over the pair of people who scraped by with their lives before focusing back on the Divine, "require anything else?"

"I'm not certain," Leliana turned back towards the pair of them. "Lanny? Cullen?"

"A long rest is all I intend, perhaps for a few days," he grumbled. His hand slipped away from Lana's back to dig into his eyes, mashing the mud stains nearer to his waterline.

"Hm..." Lana wrapped both hands around her stick turned cane, and in an exaggerated fashion she limped towards Detan. "Let me think..." hobbling closer, Lana smiled at the elf nearly her same height. She leaned back upon her heels and glanced heavenward, as if contemplating before snapping her fingers, "Ah yes, I know."

Swiping her stick fast, she smashed into the back of Detan's knees causing the elf to buckle. Cullen and Leliana both shouted a moment in surprise, while Lana grabbed onto the back of Detan's hair and yanked. Shrieking, the elf tried to claw herself free, but Lana gritted against any attack. With a force aided by both magic and seething hatred, Lana jammed Detan's face against the counter. She did it twice more until a crack reverberated through the suddenly still air only to be replaced by the elf's whimpering cry.

"Lana!" Cullen shouted. "What are you...what's going on?" He tried to reach out to free the elf from her grasp, but Leliana waved him back, her lips twisted up in thought.

"You almost got it right, Detan, or whatever your name is," Lana hissed near her ear. She tried to struggle, but Lana shoved her broken nose flatter against the counter causing pain to silence the fight. Blood pooled across the marble top, staining it for life.

"I," Detan swallowed, then coughed out a spray of crimson, "I don't understand." Her words were rimmed with tears, no doubt genuine from the pain burrowing through her sinuses and into her brain. "What's going on? I did as you asked."

"Yes, you did, exactly as asked. And then you sold us out."

"What?" Cullen struggled, shaking his head. "What happened?"

Lana didn't look over at him, all her wrath was focused on the traitor squirming below her fingers. "She knew your schedule, your movements, and they'd planned to attack today in, I'm guessing the square. Hundreds of people around to cause a panic ensuring that the assassins can fade away and the blame is passed to, who else, but mages come to murder the Commander of the Inquisition," Lana summed up, her spittle slapping against Detan's pointed ears. "But something went wrong."

Now she turned away to Cullen, "The soldiers you met up with, they changed the plan. While you were off with them, this one," she wrung her fingers tighter against Detan's hair yanking strips out in her anger, "approached me in a fright wondering where you'd gotten off to. She needed to know where you were located and quickly."

"That doesn't..." Cullen began, but as his eyes washed over the scrabbling spy his confused face melted to a sneer. "What did you do?" he hissed not at Lana but the elf.

"I did nothing, your..."

Lana pounded her head flatter, her chin splitting open against the edge. "Lies are getting you nowhere. She was the one who warned them to prepare for a mage with fire and ice capabilities."

"Maker's breath!" Cullen cursed, beginning to pace in agitation at being tricked.

"But..." Lana leaned closer, putting all her weight against Detan's back, "for all your clever tricks, your playing along, bobbing and bowing, offering discretion when needed, you missed so much."

"You weren't supposed to be there," Detan hissed. "Alone, unarmed, unaided. That was the deal."

Lana twisted her fist, ripping out more hair and causing Detan to shriek. "How dare you! How dare you fucking act as if what you were doing was a mercy? Only one needed to die? Tell that to your friends, all of them save one pulverized and burned to a crisp, by me. That mage you ignored." Her anger mutated into a raspy laugh, "Right in front of you the whole time and you missed the obvious."

"The obvious what?" Detan gurgled, but Lana didn't answer her. If she couldn't see the Hero of Ferelden under her nose then she wasn't such a great spy after all.

"I should kill you now," Lana hissed. "Do you know how many ways I could? Form a spike of ice upon my fingers and drive it up your bloody nostrils into your brain. Collapse your ribs, each jagged bone popping your lungs as you slowly suffocate, aching for a breath." The anger of betrayal folded with the depthless fear of losing Cullen, each pushing Lana to seek the most depraved vengeance she could manage. Casting an eye upward, she caught a duplicate hatred in his face. He thought he'd lost her the same as she feared losing him. Both wanted to burn Detan alive.

Luckily, there was a cooler head remaining. "Lanny," Leliana whispered, her fingers glancing across her shoulders.

"Let me finish this..." Lana said, trying to roll her friend's hand off her.

"You already have."

Slowly, Lana's shoulders dipped and the fever in her soul broke, leaving an ache in its wake. She knew she could kill Detan without a thought, assassins and spies deserved little, but it wasn't her call anymore. Leliana nodded her head at Lana, spotting the change in her demeanor. She didn't release her grasp on the elf but did lift her face off the counter enough so the Divine could look the traitor in the eye. Blood smeared across Detan's lips like rouge out of control and pooled down her throat from the gash in her chin.

Barely flickering at the gore, Leliana leaned into her face, "What you have done to me, to my friends, to the chantry and the Inquisition is inexcusable."

"I..." Detan's head folded downward, unable to take the Divine's disgusted stare.

"What say you for your actions? For guiding the death of a man who fought to save the world from destruction, for caring little of a woman who..." Leliana gazed over at Lana who pursed her lips and shook her head. Detan didn't deserve to know the truth, "who did nothing to harm you?"

Detan sucked in a watery breath, blood bubbling as she blew it out. She could have spat at Leliana, coated her white robes in a crimson stain, or cursed a storm, perhaps raged the same way the false templar did. Instead, a whimper rolled up her throat, and tears washed the blood off her cheeks.

"I see," Leliana grabbed onto the elf's arm, the strength of a woman who fought for her place every day pinning her tight, "for now you will reside in our keep, until we decide what to permanently do with you."

Dragging Detan with her, Leliana whistled and the two guards who always accompanied the Divine appeared from outside the door. She barely gave any orders beyond telling them to lock the woman up in their thickest chains. Dejected and broken, Detan's head lolled about staring at the carpet. Cullen slid closer to Lana, wrapping his hands around her shoulders. Exhausted, she nearly pitched forward now that the danger was abated, but he caught her, steadying her as they watched the traitor be hauled away. For a second Detan's eyes glanced back at the two, almost as if a whisper of an apology flitted about her lips, before she shook it away and faced a future of little hope.

 

* * *

 

Cullen clung to Lana's arm as she leaned against him for support. After making a sweep of the apartment, some of Leliana's better trained guards declared nothing amiss left by the spy in their midst. Lana sneered at them even looking, whispering with certainty that if she survived, Detan knew she was made. How could he have been so blind? To miss all the signs and in the process risk her to...

Warm fingers ran up his arm, and he turned to fall deep into her eyes. "How are you doing?" she asked in a gravel voice.

"Me?" Cullen started, shaking his head. He was tended to by Orlais' best like some spoiled brat while Lana lay upon the fetid filth of a dungeon. Cupping his palm around the curve of her face, he noticed skin slit open and filthy upon her cheeks and forehead. "These should be cleaned," he said. His thumb lightly brushed near one when Lana grabbed onto his wrist and tugged it down, her lips twisted in pain.

"From my cane going boom. There's probably some splinters of wood embedded...Maker only knows where." She wrote her injuries off as little more than a hangnail but Cullen winced. Lana wasn't supposed to be caught in that crossfire, the terrorists wanted only the Commander. Because of him, she got hurt.

Laying her makeshift cane down, Lana grabbed both her arms onto Cullen and began to hobble towards the bathroom. He followed, feeling weak and useless. The Divine glanced up from the blood stains she'd been staring at, the ones scattered over the counter where Lana confronted Detan.

"I'm going to have a talk with our spy," Leliana said, all emotion wiped clean from her words, but when Cullen glanced back he saw the same pain etched across her face. If she hadn't brought Detan into their lives, Lana wouldn't have been hurt. Wouldn't have nearly...

For her part, Lana nodded at her friend before slipping into the bathroom with Cullen right behind her. Their bathroom contained more or less that, a great porcelain tub resting up upon brass dragon talons. Water steamed up to the gold lip, while a trio of towels rested in a white wicker basket beside it. Lana ignored the tub and began to lean over for their more modest toilette. A sunken in washbasin, easily removed to dump the cold water out the window, was flocked by a dozen bottles. Her fingers aimed for a healing ointment, the contents inside the bottle nearly crystal clear.

"Let me," Cullen interrupted her laborious movements and snatched it up. She huffed once but let her head slip down in acknowledgment that he was right.

Pulling apart the wound linen, Cullen doused a handful in the balm before touching the wad to Lana's face. She crumpled her nose, flinching when it touched but didn't say a word. Clear liquid dripped down her filthy cheek, washing away blood and debris to reveal a thin welt below. "I don't see a splinter in there," he announced.

"Good," she nodded, her teeth gritted. Lana lifted her face up fully into the light and Cullen gasped at the full damage. A good dozen red welts, some bloody and all coated in grit ran from her forehead and down her cheeks.

Swallowing down his own pain at the sight, Cullen dumped nearly half the bottle into the linen and began to try to soothe her aches away. He nearly lost her, in an instant the Maker could have taken her away from him...again. And because of him, because someone out there wanted to kill him, to make a point to...it didn't blighted matter what they wanted. He'd have been the cause of her death. If he'd had to have lived with that...

Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, holding the linen still, and Cullen started from the darkness clenching around his heart. Slowly, Lana released her hold and wiped her thumb across his cheek, catching tears he'd barely noticed. "I..." he stuttered, always bumbling around her, never certain about anything. That was his curse. His hands fell to his side and he sneered at the ground. "I thought I'd have to comfort you," he whispered, peeling open the inner thoughts rattling around in his soul.

Sighing, Lana cupped both her palms around his cheeks and brought his forehead down to hers. It chilled his flushed skin burning hot with rage, shame, fear. "I suspect you will have to, later," Lana whispered back. His eyes opened, focusing on her. "It takes awhile to catch up with me. Always has, sometimes weeks."

"I suppose that helped during the blight." Cullen tried to lift his hands but they felt like dead weights.

Lana snorted and she rolled her dry eyes upward, "That one's still catching up with me."

"Lana, I--"

"It's not your fault," she interrupted, already knowing what lurked in his heart.

"How can you say that?" he whined. The evidence was clear; if she'd not been with him, not known him, not loved him then she'd never have gotten caught up in it.

Taking a deep breath, Lana rolled her palms against his cheek, dragging mud through his hair. "Because I want to blame myself even though I know that's not right either. We all missed it, and we all share some or none of the blame."

"I thought, I..."

"I know," she sighed.

"When I woke without you, I was certain you were all right. You'd gone off in pursuit of them, were assisting the guards, or even you were with Leliana planning, and the whole time you..." Cullen swallowed, his lips whiffling as breath barely passed though. "I believed you invulnerable."

A sob broke in her throat and he looked up to find tears running down her cheeks. "If they'd killed you, if I hadn't...saved you. Maker, I was already making plans to find them all. Destroy them. It's..." She dug her fingers into him, pulsing the tips against his flesh as she repeated a mantra, "You're here, you're alive, it's over."

"Is it?" He knew that one man down, even the handful they finished off were nothing compared to the nest hiding underground. It'd take time, effort, resources to smoke them out and even then another could pick up the mantle and carry it ever onward. It never ended, not as long as people rattled their sabers in the darkest of corners.

Lana huffed, air blowing out her cheeks. "Cullen, don't...I need that, to cling to. It's the only way I..."

Wincing, he folded his hands around her waist and tugged her tight. "No, you're right. I'm alive, you're alive. We're good."

She hooked her fingers into his biceps and in a stripped, questioning voice answered, "I suppose so."

Cullen broke from his tight hug to look down at her. She'd stopped her tears without any troubles, but the ointment he'd inelegantly doused across her cheeks dripped down her clearing skin towards her dress. "Oh, Maker, I..." he ran his fingers over her collarbone, trying to capture the liquid before it stained anything.

Smiling at his ineptitude, Lana began to slowly unbutton the top of her dress. As she revealed the eternal depths of her cleavage, he felt a flush race across his body only to be replaced by shame for letting lust take over now. Cullen turned away, his vision focusing on the closed bathroom door to give her privacy, when Lana's fingers gripped onto him.

"It's okay, you can look," she insisted, an almost laugh in her voice. It wasn't that he was trying to be chivalrous, though some of that clung to his bones despite how often they'd been intimate. Cullen feared the reaction his body would have to gazing upon hers. This wasn't the time, not when she'd, when he'd...

Her fingers wrapped around his stomach, tugging him towards her until she nestled her face against his back. "I should get clean," Lana said, and Cullen nodded, prepared to walk out, "and so do you. We can kill two darkspawn with one fireball."

"Lana," he rotated in her arms to find she'd already stripped off her dress leaving a structured slip behind that suckered tight to her skin. "I don't want to, if you need..."

"What I need is a bath," she said, her beautiful eyes staring through to his soul. "And I think, what you need is me."

Cullen flexed his fingers, his head dropping down. She was right, but the burning winding up his bones tugged him down into despair. Twisting away from her face, but not her embrace, he shuddered apart the ice floes crowding out the surface of his pain. "Loss is...it was a part of the life, my life," he spoke to the door, watching his nails claw the air. Black bits of the burned man's flesh had worked under them, as well as the mud of their mass grave, while he dug through the corpses praying to not see her face. "People die, during war, or in service, even-even not sometimes, and I..." He pinched his nose high, trying to shake it as if he bit into something bitter.

Her lips pressed against his back; he could feel her smooshing her face tighter to him. "It's different this time," she said.

Like slitting the string, his head lolled towards his chest. "Yes, it is. I don't know if I can...if I'm able to face up to," his sentence floated away, unable to speak the words building to bursting in his throat. He was trained for this, to enter the field of battle, ignore the loss, the fear, and do everything within his power to make certain his side came out victorious. No matter the cost.

Two years of grief warped that in him, burned away his failsafes, and froze solid his ability to disconnect, rendering it as unreachable as a griffin's nest. Cullen's filthy hands grabbed onto hers holding so tight to him. He couldn't do it, couldn't watch her run head first into danger not knowing in his mind and body if she'd return or what her falling would do to him. Endure, that was what'd been etched across his soul for as long as he could remember. He'd built himself to be untouchable, unbreakable, aloof beyond measure. And in one moment, all that steel armor shattered away leaving him vulnerable and, yes, scared. What could he be with that fear crawling under his skin? What could he become for her?

"Cullen," she whispered, drawing him out of his bottomless self-hate. Slowly, Lana tugged her fingers free of his grip which he let fall. She didn't yank them away but leaned her cheek against his back while speaking. "Let me help you." Delicately, Lana's aching fingers reached up to undo the first button on his tunic. As she moved down the row, popping every one off with more tenderness than he ever managed, Lana pressed her lips against his back.

While stripping off the shirt and letting it tumble to the floor, Cullen felt more naked than he thought possible. Everything he'd strived for, every choice, every decision to make the world better and to what end? People only wanted him dead, for their own means. Did he truly help anything? Unaware of his internal torment, or perhaps because of it, Lana skirted her fingertips across his chest. Down the scar from Haven when he had to kill his own templar, across another gained at Kinloch facing the same, trailing the mage fire from Kirkwall that burned away his certainty, the roadmap of every time he locked his heart further away inside his chest for his safety, his sanity. Lightly, she trailed down not to his breeches, but the bandage wrapped upon his arm.

Pursing her lips at the wad of linen below her fingers, Lana whispered while inspecting it, "How bad is it?"

Cullen felt insolence rise at how much attention he received for it, "Not at all."

"But it's..." She began to unwind the bandages, strips of linen trailing across the floor like bunting. They could easily decorate the sanctuary of the Grand Cathedral in what tumbled off Cullen's arm. "Maker," Lana sighed, still unwinding, "how much of this is there?"

"I fear the healer in charge was rather proud of her bandage collection," he sighed.

A whisper of a chuckle broke from Lana at his impertinence and he in turn felt a smile twitching up his lips. "It's very thorough," she said, finally reaching towards the end as a bit of his own blood stained the tan bindings.

"Yes," Cullen sighed, putting a whine in his tone he didn't truly feel in his heart, "thorough enough I suspect my arm would have withstood a mabari bite."

She smiled at that and finally pulled free the final end to reveal his gash courtesy of a terrorist's blade. "Hm," Lana ran her fingers above it, lightly waffling his arm hair, "it's done well. Cleaned, stitched, I rather doubt there'd even be a scar." Her eyes drifted up from his failure to dodge and he fell into them.

"Maker," Cullen gasped, cupping her bruised and maimed cheek, "if I'd lost you..."

Tears welled up in those comforting browns, but Lana blinked them away. She patted his hand against her cheek, then gestured to the tub. "I don't know about you, but I'd like to get all the filth of...everything off of me."

His head hung low, Cullen's vision skirting over the thin underclothes clinging to her body. Rotating his forehead against hers, the contact soothing him, he sighed, "You're correct."

Lana patted him once on the cheek before sliding back. Despite only having a pair of trousers left to tangle with, she managed to undress faster than him. While folding up her shift and keeping it far from the muddy dress, Lana kept up a conversation with herself about some other person she knew who adored bandages and would find any excuse to get one, particularly the ones with hearts painted on them. Cullen didn't answer much, but he couldn't stop his eyes from wandering over the curve of the small of her back, the glisten of her beautiful skin, the rolling fullness of her breasts as she bent over, the delicate fingers sliding down her stomach.

'It's okay to look,' he repeated her permission in his head. While he could never deny how he craved her body, in that moment as he canvassed every inch of her from those daisy yellow toenails up to her sheered locks, gratefulness enveloped him. When he slithered out of his own breeches, and began to yank free the socks, he felt Lana's curious gaze traveling over his body. She seemed to need to look too, as if to make certain that it wasn't all some fevered dream. They were both real.

After tossing his socks towards the door, Cullen turned back to find the tips of her teeth nibbling against her bottom lip. That was enough to shatter what little resolve he could manage around her naked body. Absently, his hand moved towards his crotch, as if he could hide the fact from her, but Lana chuckled and snatched his fingers away. "Here, help me into the tub, please. I can't lift my leg high enough."

She guided his hand to curl around hers and tugged him closer to the water. After shaking away the foolish embarrassment, Cullen slid nearer to her. Holding tight to her hand, he slid his spare one around her naked waist, the cool skin puckering as he helped her upwards into the tub. Water sloshed over the side, heading for his hastily tossed trousers as Lana paddled towards the edge of the tub and an ornery smile twisted up her lips. Patting the water with her hand she urged him to join her.

While she drifted to the northern end, Cullen hopped up over the rim of the tub. Scalding water tried to pry off his flesh and he sucked in a breath waiting for his weak body to adjust. Standing half up in the tub, he heard a gasp from behind and glanced over his shoulder to watch Lana's famished vision staring meticulously at his back end.

"My eyes are up here," he coughed, already feeling a blush rising to his cheeks, both sets.

"Perhaps," she chuckled, "but your ass is demanding all my attention."

Unable to withstand such concentrated focus, Cullen turned around and flopped into the tub. Waves undulated from his addition, water slopping up to Lana's sunken chin and more splashing over the tub's edge. Ignoring the heat of the bath, Cullen slid his back down the slick wall of the tub and stretched his feet out. The left one surfaced beside Lana's face and she looked over at it.

"What is this doing here?" she pouted, increasing her faux exasperation for dramatic effect.

Feeling a grin rising in his stomach, Cullen popped the right next to her and said, "Floating."

"Maker's breath," she groaned, snatching one up in her fingers. "You don't see my feet waving in your face!" Even as she admonished him for it, Lana kneaded her fingers across the balls of his feet triggering a soothing wave of pleasure from his beleaguered toes up to Cullen's calf.

Andraste's pyre, his tongue slackened from how she massaged away the knots in his feet, paying attention to the toes gnarled from years butting up in armored boots. When Lana paused, moving to the next, Cullen managed to get a sentence in. "Forgive me for being tall."

"You're forgiven," she smirked, working her skills upon his other foot. "But only because I'm generous." Finished plying him apart and back together, Lana let his feet rest but they hung right beside her shoulders, pinching into her if he shifted. While she fit perfectly into the tub, he had to keep himself scrunched up to fit, or sometimes didn't bother at all.

Cullen leaned forward to grab onto Lana's hand. He missed her fingers but caught around her wrist. At first Lana smiled, already sliding closer, but when he tugged on her wrist she gasped in pain and curled inward. Dropping his grip instantly, Cullen scooted towards her. "Are you...?"

Shaking her head she rose from her forehead skimming near the water and slipped on a half smile. "It was the manacles, they...you know."

Despair dropped into his gut, scraping him hollow from the red welt rising up against her thin skin. As if he was scooping up a baby bird to return to a nest, Cullen palmed her wrist in his hands. She watched him wash water over it, the refracting light causing the swelling to sparkle almost as if she was wearing a bracelet tight against her skin instead of...

Softly, he placed his lips against the thin skin of her wrist, trying to wipe away the damage from fear and hatred with a touch of love. It was stupid, he knew that in his mind, but some silly part of his heart for a moment thought it might work. Cullen lifted away from her wrist, his eyes opening to find that the welt remained, and probably would for days. Failure overflowed his skin, when Lana pulled her hand away from his. He expected her to slip back to her side of the tub, but wet hands burst from the water to grab onto his hair. Guiding him down to her, Lana pressed a kiss so tight to his lips, Cullen slid until his back bumped into the tub's wall.

Heat rose through his body, tempting his fingers to canvas her hips and slide back around to her luscious ass. Lana's hands drifted down from his curls to land upon his shoulders. Using the leverage she pushed herself up to break the kiss, but those beguiling eyes rolled open and she smiled so perfectly he yearned to draw another one from her.

"I love you," tumbled out of his throat with such breathy lust, it was a wonder it didn't come out "I need you."

Lana swallowed, a flush rising to her cheeks, and she dipped her forehead to his. Her lips worked through a few words she never said before gently plucking a single kiss from him. Before Cullen thought to return it, she turned around and settled into his lap.

No longer feeling ashamed of his reaction to her beautiful body, Cullen savored the sensation of her buoyant backside bumping into his excited state. Wrapping his hands tight around Lana's stomach, he buried his mouth against her shoulder, planting soft kisses across her radiant skin. He nearly lost the ability to do that, to hold her, to kiss her, to curl a finger over the scar across her right hip until she broke into ticklish giggles. All because of him.

"I can't do it," fell from his mouth.

Lana stiffened a moment below his arms before asking, "Do what?"

"Be what I was anymore," he groaned. "Run headfirst into battle and damn the consequences."

Sliding downward, Lana's relaxing body slipped lower until Cullen could bury his chin in her sheared hair. She smelled of the prison they threw her into, fetid mold and stale urine rolled together into the scent of eternal despair. Cupping his hands, Cullen dropped a small cascade of water over her head. Some of it rolled back towards his mouth because he couldn't break from her even while trying to wash her. Only the sound of water slapping against skin and pooling back into the tub echoed through the room. On occasion, Lana would sigh in pleasure as he massaged across her scalp with the special soap bar before trying to wash it all away. Every dump of his hands cleared away more of the filth from the streets and the prison, but it didn't vanish into the ether. It dispersed through the tub, the sludge clouding all the once clean water it touched. He almost choked at the ham fisted metaphor before him.

"I can't do it either," Lana said, breaking the silence and his concentration. Her fingers lifted from the water to wrap around his. Tugging them back to rest upon her thigh, Lana traced up his forearm, following a deep gouging from mage fire, a scar he barely noticed anymore.

"No, I know I can do it. Could leap back into that world, flush out those who would hurt others, put them to a gruesome death and still barely sleep at night. I nearly..." her words trailed off as she shook her head. "I don't want to."

"Did you mean it?" he asked, his breath trying to dry her sopping hair.

"Mean what?"

Cullen screwed his eyes tight and asked what'd been sticking in his gullet, "About returning to Ferelden?"

Turning in his lap, Lana's fingers drifted through his scruff pulling his eyes to hers. "Of course I do. It's my home. It's your home. I..." she sighed. "I know Leliana wishes I'd stay here where she can protect me, but I don't want to be the princess locked away forever in a tower for my own good. I need to do _something_. And, Maker, I miss Ferelden so much -- the feel of winter winds chilling through the thickest coat. Sounds of dogs barking at each other from across miles. Andraste help me, even the food." Tears welled up in her eyes and she bit into her lip. "I wanna go home."

"Me too," Cullen said, brushing off her tears and lightly tracing her lips with his thumb. "It...that's what's been on my mind as of late. What I wanted to talk to you about, been worrying myself down to a nub over."

"Cullen..." she wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pressing her perfect chest against his. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because, I...I was afraid of the answer. Of what it would mean if you didn't want to, if you couldn't--"

Her fingers brushed over his lips, silencing the stutter in them. A certainty filled her eyes, returning her to the imposing woman who slew an archdemon, "I am never giving you up, not without a fight."

A thousand worries burst to life and died from the conviction in her words. Butting his forehead into hers, Cullen breathed out, "Me neither," before kissing those lips that'd trailed his thoughts and dreams since he was eighteen. Lana's fingers dug into his hair, splashing more of the suds into the knotting curls, while her beautiful breath danced with his. "What now?" he whispered beside her mouth before placing a soft kiss to the edge of it.

She smoothed her thumb over his cheek, rubbing it in concentric circles to try and break up the mud. "I suppose we need to find somewhere in Ferelden to settle. Amaranthine is out," Lana shook her head, a bitter frown warping her soothing features. She exhaled a staggered breath, her eyelashes fluttering from all the loss she suffered there. Cullen's hands burst from the water to envelope her waist. Slowly, he tugged her against his chest until her warm cheek suckered tight. The scents of rosemary and juniper wafted from her washed hair, which she happily rubbed across his still filthy body.

"What of..." he began, swallowing down the burr in his throat, "Denerim?"

"Oh no," Lana stated with absolute certainty.

"Thank the Maker," he gasped, tipping his head back against the rim of the tub.

"Denerim's not the worst place, by a long shot, but far too many people know me there and...Why are you so concerned about that one?" her sly eyes rolled up to try and catch his. Cullen tried to wipe away the guilty look but he was too slow.

A chuckle rumbled up her chest, bouncing her freed breasts and momentarily distracting him. "Do not tell me you honestly thought I wished to live in the palace?"

"It..." Cullen struggled to find an answer for his worries. "It's not beyond the realm of potential."

Placing a wet hand upon his chest, she broke from snuggling to him so he could watch her lift an eyebrow. "You've never had to live with Alistair. I'd give it a month tops before we would get into a shouting match across the entirety of the palace that would rival dragons fighting over territory."

"He's your friend," Cullen tried to wipe away any venom he felt towards the king in his sentence.

"No, he's my potential friend. We're still working on it. Maker's sake, Cullen, I would never put that on you. The eternal awkwardness alone... And, I suspect keeping a country's breadth away from Alistair will work better for our embryonic friendship."

A breath burst through his lungs that cracked off the vice he'd kept upon them for the past months. "I am such a fool," he sighed, ending in a soft laugh.

Lana's finger tripped over his chin, tracing the imperceptible indent before she smiled, "No, you're not." Her calming words drew his attention, the blush fading away at her lips half turned up in contemplation. Cullen's hand parted down that soft cheek, her enticing neck, across the tempting acres of her chest, and down to her stomach. Nipping her lip, Lana shuffled on her legs, when he fished the soap out from between their bodies at the bottom of the tub. She laughed at the small splash and pulled it away.

Rotating back, Lana began to lather up her arms, scrubbing all the filth until she was made anew. Cullen pinned both hands to her stomach, waiting patiently until it was his turn.

"If we play our cards right, we could probably get some land out of Alistair."

"Land?" he started, shaking his head, "What are you planning that you need so much land the crown gets involved?"

"Oh," Lana smiled slyly over her shoulder, "you'll see."


	25. Moving On

Four boxes waited in the apartments, each packed tight with special focus given to the one marked "Glassware - if you break it, you answer to a vengeful mage." Lana clung to her new cane, one with a silver and cobalt vein swirling through the wood. A gift from Leliana, who was watching Cullen struggling to slide the gilded armchair back to where he found it. For nearly four months they stayed inside this apartment their burgeoning life growing into something more. Her eyes traveled over to the comfortable divan where they'd often sit, Cullen massaging her legs until she could risk walking and then she in turn holding him as he fought through the lyrium's song.

The chair rattled out of Cullen's hands, landing close enough to its starting point. He dug a hand through his hair, smooshing up the curls with the help of his sweat. "I think that's where it belongs," he began. For a moment, his eyes glanced up at Lana and the sweet smile strung a chord in her heart. Shuffling across the floors they'd trudged upon a hundred times, and once - after finishing up the sherry - danced together on, Lana slipped into his waiting arms. They shouldn't fit; mage and templar, two people opposed by duty, by birth, and a world always tearing each of them in twain. His lips pressed into the top of her head.

"Mmm, your hair's getting much longer," he mused, thumbing up the pitiful half inch it managed in the time.

"You are a terrible liar," Lana laughed, rolling her fingers across his stomach and rising up to kiss him. Cullen met her halfway, as he did on everything. They shouldn't work, both shattered to pieces by loss and tragedy; barely stitched back together like two broken pots glued to make one.

"Is this all of your belongings?" Leliana asked, causing Lana to turn away from him.

"Yes, though I have no idea how we accumulated so much while here."

"There's still the matter of my things left at Skyhold," Cullen mused aloud. They had something of a plan in mind, though it'd be months to a half year until they managed to settle anywhere permanent.

"How much can the austere commander have to his name?"

He tipped his head and a free hand moved to the back of his neck. "You would be surprised. Two years and...people enjoy giving us gifts. Sometimes strange ones."

"Oh Maker, we're not going to unbox something at your sisters and have an old Tevinter fertility statue fall out, are we?"

"No! Least, I don't think so..." his rubbing increased, causing a burn to rise up.

Chuckling, Lana tugged his fingers down to wind about with hers. "It's okay, we'll say it's a coat hanger." His glower only made her giggle more.

Embarrassed, or perhaps overcome by the rising tide of emotions, Leliana slipped back, her eyes upon the rug beside the breakfast nook. "Is that a stain?"

"Ah..." now Lana's face flushed and she shared a guilty glance with the man who helped to create said stain. Rather than own up to it, he wrapped his hands tight around her stomach and buried his mouth into her hair. Against her knotting curls, she could feel him trying to silence his laughs.

They shouldn't love, trauma coiling through their every breath, on bad days dragging both down to insurmountable depths. Trying to cover over for their reconciliation stain, Lana pointed at the ceiling. "Oh, we can't leave behind my plant."

Cullen released his hold on her and with his greater stature easily stretched up to unhook it. "Are you certain you don't wish to leave my blunder behind?" The adder's hiss fanned out beyond the breadth of his shoulders, making it unwieldy even in Cullen's great hands.

"Yes, it's mine and I'm keeping it," Lana insisted as she pulled it away from him to overflow out of her smaller arms.

Smiling, he curled a hand around her back and slid behind her, ready to protect and support her should she need it. They shouldn't fit but they did, the strapping, pale templar folding to embrace the tiny, dark mage. They shouldn't work, but whenever Lana's reach was too short, Cullen was there to extend it. They shouldn't love, but when he fell to darkness she was there to overfill his heart with everything inside of her.

"Are you certain now is the time to leave?" Leliana asked. She wasn't in her Divine robes, nor the old Spymaster gear. Instead, her best friend wore the same first set of splint mail Lana gifted her after they left Lothering. It was a strange but touching move. "I only worry, given your injuries, and it can be a long climb to recovery."

Lana slid away from Cullen to reach her friend. Her usual sweet smile, honed by the bardic arts, flipped downward as Leliana glowered at her hands. Lana gripped tight to one, "Leils, this isn't the last you'll see of me. And I'll write, all the time. You know that."

"I do," she smiled. "But I worry about you so far away." Leliana wrapped her hands around Lana's back and tugged her into a crushing hug.

"I worry about you too, you know. I'm not the one with a target painted on my back," Lana slid back from the hug, holding tight to her cane. "What's happened to that false templar I caught? Are you safe?"

"Hanged until dead. There was very little debate about his sentence, particularly with the Inquisitor's insistence," her eyes flickered over to Cullen for a minute and he nodded his head, a sneer lifting up his scar.

"And what came of Detan?" Lana asked. "Dead as well?"

Leliana pursed her lips, "She is being put to use for us, with her intel we hope to trace these terrorists back to their hiding holes."

"Assuming she doesn't betray you first," Cullen sneered and Lana bobbed her head with him. It seemed the most likely outcome.

"I do not think we need to worry about that occurrence. In digging, we discovered some facts about her background that the Order of Mercy, as the new templars call themselves, were using to..."

"I don't care," Lana cut her off. Everyone had a sob story, a reason to turn on their fellows, to twist trust until the edges frayed leaving nothing remaining. It didn't matter. In the end, Detan made a choice and she was paying for it. More than likely, if the templars didn't finish her off, Leliana would use her up until she became a liability. That was the way of this world.

"Lanny, are you okay?" Leliana whispered near her. She understood her concern, they'd both traipsed down this same path before. Weigh the consequences, think of them not as people but collateral. It was the only way to keep going, to rise in the morning fresh to begin again. Lana used to convince herself she was different by keeping the names of those lost carved into her staff. Now...now the only thing she knew was that she didn't know anything.

Wrapping an arm around Leliana's shoulder, Lana sighed, "As okay as I can be."

"You may remain here still. Decoys would slip out and fool the masses into thinking the Commander's returned to Skyhold..." Leliana's idea drifted away as she stared at Lana's set jaw.

"We don't belong here," she said, for the first time feeling a waver to her words.

But Leliana didn't try to crack them open. She closed her eyes and sighed, "No, I suppose you don't. You were always Ferelden down to your core, both of you." Releasing her hold on Lana, Leliana reached over to Cullen and extended her hand. He took it with a question darting over to Lana.

"You have been one of the best things to ever step into Lanny's life, Commander," Leliana said, a rattle breaking through her throat. "And if you love her just a tenth of how much she loves you, then..." she paused and glanced over at Lana who felt her cheeks burning at the attention, "yours is a romance for the storybooks. Keep her safe. No, keep each other safe."

"I will," he pronounced as if giving a vow.

"Where will you be staying on your trip to Ferelden?" Leliana asked.

"Ah, I believe the itinerary has us stopping through a few of the smaller towns," Cullen answered, getting an eye roll from Lana. He knew the answer down to the anticipated hour they'd hit each one. It kept him busy for the week while they packed and prepared, slowly giving their limited goodbyes to the people who'd bustled in and out of their lives.

Leliana's lips turned up revealing that old bardic smile. "There is a lovely hunting cottage at my current disposal and it would be the perfect place for two people to slip away to without risk of being disturbed for a week or more."

Cullen looked about to insist they didn't need it, but Lana caught her friend's wicked edge, "Leils? What's going on?"

"A cleansing that shall shake the dusty cobwebs from every arm of the chantry," she smiled with a razor sharp edge. "It is a long time coming, and I would prefer both of you be far from any reverberations in the web."

That was nearly her life: intrigue, false smiles, knives in the dark. Lana could feel it rippling below her skin, how she could fall back to the days of her working through the shark infested waters of politics. But that wasn't what she wanted. Wrapping her hand around Cullen's, she stared up at him. That wasn't what he wanted either. Her time was limited, everyone's was by the discretion of the Maker, and Lana intended to spend every moment she was allotted making up for what was lost.

"We should take it," Lana said, "give your sister time to prepare, and...keep the Commander away from anyone's pinchers."

His eyes slipped shut and he nodded. "You're right. Thank you, Leliana."

A bark echoed from the middle of the boxes and Honor trotted out of her napping place. Hers were the saddest goodbyes of all, every person on her daily walks offering up their favorite mabari treats, pets, one even tied pink bows around her collar. Tatters of the ribbons dangled free, the mabari not having much use for the Orlesian finery, just like her masters. Proud of her minimal accomplishment, Honor stuck out her chest before barreling face first into Cullen's leg.

"Silly girl, what do you want now?" he sighed.

Behind them, the door opened, revealing a trio of nearly identical dwarves even down to their red beards. "We're here to haul your stuff down to the carriage."

"Of course," Cullen sighed, wrapping a finger around Honor's collar and pulling her out of the way. He gestured his head at the four crates, "That would be all of them."

"Right," the leader of the dwarven moving company nodded and the three of them hauled up the first. Lana jerked at the sounds of glass shifting below their fingers, prepared to tell them to be careful, but the third pointed out her sign. Slowly, three sets of crystal blue eyes swiveled towards her and each gulped. As if carrying a priceless statue of Andraste, they eased towards the door, murmuring how they were being extra super duper careful.

"I suppose that's it," Lana said. "By nightfall, we should reach the town of...?"

"Hamsville," Cullen groaned, struggling to not roll his eyes. She'd made an interesting game out of finding the strangest named villages across Orlais, and talked him into stopping at a few of them.

Cupping his fingers in hers, Lana squeezed once. Any perturbations he bore vanished at the touch of her skin. Smiling with his whole soul, the man who matched her step by excruciating step, pressed a whisper of a kiss against her forehead. It hadn't been an easy road, and Maker knew it wasn't about to lighten anytime soon, but she couldn't imagine having to walk it without Cullen. Dropping his grip, Lana hauled up the adder's hiss in her arms.

She glanced once more over the apartments gifted to them, searching to see if there was anything else they missed, when Leliana's hands wrapped tight around Lana's shoulders. Tears rarer than any gemstone dripped down Leliana's cheeks as she hugged her friend close. Lana struggled to return the affection, the plant holding her arms hostage.

"Promise me you'll keep alive this time," Leliana whispered.

"I'll do my damnedest," Lana said back, her own emotions bubbling over. They hugged tight to each other as the dwarves slipped back in, mumbling how that glass sure was secured safe, eyed the Divine wrapped up with the little mage, and yanked up the second box quickly.

"Thedas isn't the same without you," Leliana said, breaking her arms free. She glanced towards Cullen for a moment who nodded his head solemnly. "And for the Maker's sake, please write often. I have very few eyes in western Ferelden."

"Leils, I will not be your spy," she laughed, shaking her head.

"I meant to watch over you," Leliana whispered. "But," she wiped away her tears and extended a hand to Cullen, "you have that well covered. Both of you, live well. Live happy because all of us are happy for you."

"Maker, you make it sound like I'm walking to my death. Ferelden isn't that bad," Lana said, waving a finger under her friend's nose. Her mocking tone worked to diffuse the humid emotions rising in the room.

"As you say," Leliana answered, the Orlesian born woman patting Lana in the back. With one hand upon her cane and the other arm wrapped tight around her expanding pot, Lana slid next to Cullen. He offered to take the adder's hiss from her but she sighed and glanced down at Honor who was straining to make friends with the dwarves climbing up and down the staircase. Together, they surveyed the apartment one last time. It was strange, for being such a brief respite in their lives, so many memories of their coming together and building something new rested inside.

Turning up to Cullen, Lana smiled, "Let's go home."


	26. Epilogue

A solitary hawk cried out through the setting sun, its wings parting the dusky air as it rose above the Hinterland trees. Cullen watched it for a time, his fingers clinging to the stones of their abbey, when he leaned too far forward. It knocked a stone loose, sending it skittering over the edge where the broken masonry plopped onto the barely tamed ground. A few of their workers glanced over, eyeing up the man supposed to be in charge.

"We'll fix it tomorrow," he said, his stone destroying hand digging into the back of his neck. "Maker, it's been a long day," Cullen groaned. Giving up on any hope of wringing a knot out, he turned away from the lanterns springing up around their refuge to face the bedroom door. They'd only moved into it a few days ago, having needed to clear out where they had been sleeping for an unexpected ill templar.

Cullen lifted the latch with his thumb and pushed on the door, only to have it stick tight. _Blighted perfect._ Groaning from the days worth of work spent shuffling from bed to bed, trying to clear out the always falling debris in their ramshackle stables, and then showing a Bann around for good measure, he smacked his head against the door. Mercifully, that was enough to unstick the jam, and it whined inward revealing a sight that made it all worth it.

Their room was a disaster, splintered and useless furniture piled up on one side to rot away into a dust heap. But a solitary desk of rosewood was found in a back room in nearly pristine condition. He had to sand it down and revarnish it, but it was sturdy and ready to take on its new life under their hands. All manner of missives, letters, books, research, and their piles of barely washed clothing filled the top as they had yet to find any other dressers or wardrobes. What brought a smile to his face was the plant perched on the edge. Straining to reach out the window, the silver and green leaves of the poisonous adder's hiss glittered by the setting sunlight and the water being poured across it.

Lana looked beautiful, a concentrated smile on her face as she ran thumb and finger across a leaf while humming that damn song about him under her breath. Funny enough, she wore that blue dress she'd gotten in Val Royeaux over a year ago. Ever since they took the land from the crown, she'd been dressed in tunics and trousers with the ratio of stains to rips always altering as their work stretched on. Today, she thought it best to look presentable. The Bann barely cast a glance at the true brains behind their work, but Cullen couldn't take his eyes off her.

The humming faded and she glanced up at him. Her lips lifted even higher, revealing those hidden dimples she kept secreted away. Cullen's legs wobbled from the way she stared up at him. "Long day," stuttered from his lips as he slid into the room. Turning, he tried to yank the door back but it whined even louder before failing to fully close. "Maker's sake!" he cursed under his breath, abandoning the stuck open door for tomorrow.

Lana placed her watering can down and swept across the floor towards him. He barely lifted his arms before she wrapped around him into an embrace. Maker, holding her calmed his blood in a way nothing else ever could. She rolled her fingers over his back and strained on her toes to look up into his eyes.

"We should celebrate," she pronounced, a glint in her eye.

"Oh?" At the moment, all the celebrating Cullen could manage would be the falling to the floor part. Someone else would have to handle all the carousing and drinking.

"It's our first day as a still nameless refuge," she said, waving an arm. Even through the exhaustion, her infectious smile managed to twist his lips up higher.

"First day?" he scoffed. "Then what were the past two months when we had templars in and out of the rooms."

"Practice?" Lana threw out, striking a lightening guffaw from deep in his gut. His fingers ran across her cheek, the calluses from trying to turn the decrepit abbey into something livable grazing upon her skin. Lana didn't flinch from them; she turned so her lips could press against each one. "We're official now, got the chantry's blessing, the crown's..."

"As if that was difficult to do," Cullen grumbled but generally goodnatured. Alistair was on the far side of the country, after all.

"And," Lana drug it out, her eyes rolling at his no doubt 'king sneer,' "with the Bann giving us his approval it's our first day in business. As it were."

Lightly, Cullen tugged off the flour sack she tied around her hair. Her strands burst free of their constraint, the spirals barely contained after a rainstorm moved through a day ago. Tossing it to their bowing desk, he fluffed her hair up savoring the pull of it upon his fingers. Lana's eyes slipped closed, enjoying the gentle scalp massage before Cullen tipped her head back and planted a kiss. He'd been wanting to do it since she slipped on that dress. Yearned to ditch the Bann, pull Lana aside, and lick every delectable curve of her skin.

She smiled, her grin almost breaking free of his lips before she rolled her fingers around his back to tug herself closer to him. A moan parted her lips, nearly primal enough to convince him he wasn't exhausted beyond measure. The tremor in his hands told him otherwise. Slipping away before he did any damage to himself, Cullen ran a finger across her cheek, trailing her scar.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, a purr rolling under her words.

"Yes," he sighed, "but all my body wants is to curl into bed."

Lana's smile didn't falter, no doubt she was as exhausted, but her eyes darted to their mattress tossed onto the floor. "More like crawl into bed."

He groaned, "Yes, I know. I'll get to it one of these days." He'd had a lofty idea of building his first ever headboard and bed frame, because that was so easy.

"Cullen," she caught his hand and pinned it in her own. Lana's fingers dug into his palm, trying to massage away the calluses sprouting calluses, "I know you will. You always finish what you start."

That wasn't true, there were plenty of things in his life he had to abandon over the years. Like her. Maker, how many times did he walk away from Lana never knowing if he'd ever see her again, if she'd ever want to see him?

The dark turn in his mood must have shone through as she brushed her fingers across his clean shaven face. That earned a momentary frown, Cullen well aware of her preferences. Cupping her wrist, he sighed, "Give it a day and it will return."

"I hope so," she smiled. "The Bann was hardly worth it."

"On that I will concur," he said, tipping his forehead against hers.

"Really?" Lana pursed her lips, drawing his attention to the succulent temptation. "Commander Cullen thinking that the nobility are overrated. I am shocked."

He snickered, "I'm no longer the Commander, remember."

"Yes you are," she said. "Doesn't matter how far you are into retirement. Titles like that, the ones earned in war, they never go away. Well, not unless you go deep into hiding, maybe fake your own death, and then everyone thinks you're the maid or something."

She slipped on an easy smile, but he knew it had to bother her. It angered him to no end when they'd meet with the dignitaries who'd fall all over Cullen as if he pissed gold but barely deign a glance at the woman beside him. The only ones who gave her the respect she deserved were the King and Arl Teagan, the people who knew who Lana truly was. "You deserve better," he huffed.

"I don't know, sometimes it's nice to be a nobody," she said running her fingers down his shirt. As they traipsed near his stomach, Lana's tongue trailed across her lips. "I get to overhear the noble women all a titter over the Commander in their midst. When they're not asking me to fetch them more wine."

He didn't understand it. So many of the gentry treated Lana like furniture, as if she faded into the wallpaper, while he couldn't remember a time that she didn't command his attention from across a crowded room. "I wish I could whack them all about the head," he growled.

"No you don't," Lana chastised, before tipping her head, "all right, some of them I'll give you. Cullen," she drew her fingers down his cheeks, pulling his eyes to hers, "I don't mind. I don't care because, for the love of Andraste, I have you. It's worth it to be able to wake every day in your arms not fearing a darkspawn attack or an army come to knock down our little abbey's walls."

"They could do it with a sneeze," he sighed, well aware of the work still ahead of him. Biting on his lip, he butted his forehead tighter to hers. "I'm...having you here, with me. Doing what we're doing for the good of..."

He'd had a speech prepared for nearly a month now, one that spoke of how his heart beat only in time with hers, how he'd try to wake a few minutes before she did just to watch her slumber in peace. That he loved her beyond reason, and never in his life imagined he could be this happy. But anytime he tried to begin it, the words jumbled in his throat, his tongue rolled upon itself, and he glanced over at her bemused expression realizing that he'd blown his moment. There was always the next time, Cullen kept repeating to himself. He could ask her again later, when he hadn't inserted his foot into his mouth.

At the rate his attempts were going, the likelihood of that seemed to be sometime within the next twenty years.

For her part, Lana waited, her fingers knotting around his as she tugged them down to hang between their pressed bodies. His thumb rolled across each of them, knocking about the ring she always wore. Maker, why couldn't he do it? It was two simple words but any time he thought of it his brow perspired in terror and his tongue scampered down his throat. He knew she loved him, knew she wanted to be with him. Maybe, maybe that was all they needed and he was stressing himself over a frivolity.

"Cullen," she breathed, her eyes staring down at their conjoined hands - both of them cracked and knotted from the work they put in, their lives donated to the cause. A knot of a smile lifted up her lips and Lana raised her eyes up to his. "Would you marry me?"

Shocked, he jerked back. She did it, took the fear and trepidation away from him with a single twist of that beautiful mouth. "Yes," Cullen gasped, giddiness replacing the flop sweat. "Maker's breath, yes." Cupping her jaw, he kissed her with a purity they hadn't felt since that very first one in the deeproads. When he'd stood there with his heart in his hand, risking everything, and she gladly accepted it. Now it was his turn.

"I..." he slid back before diving back for another kiss, this one burning through his soul and awakening every fiber of his being. "I love you," he sighed.

"That's a good reason to get married," she said straight laced, before smirking.

"What will I...?" he began, shaking his head even as a lightness lifted his soul ever skyward. It'd been weighed by rocks, some of his own choosing and others heaped upon him from outside forces. But Lana, that little mage who flitted through his mind with an elegant ease for so long, removed each one piece by piece until he thought he could fly. "I've wanted to ask you, to...but I didn't know if," he stuttered, mashing his forehead against hers.

"We certainly don't need anyone's blessing," she sighed, her fingers straining to knot behind the back of his neck. "There's no land to tie up, no dowries to pass back and forth, but..." her lips parted and she took in a breath. Rolling those endless brown eyes up at him, Lana sighed, "I know what the Maker means to you, and having Andraste forge our union would..."

"Lana," Cullen smiled, pushing back the invading hairs he freed, "you don't have to explain it."

"Sorry," she smiled, "old habit."

"One of many I love," he wrapped her tight against his chest and the weight of their struggle crashed upon him. "And never want to lose."

Fifteen years since the blight, when she vanished from his life to warp and hone herself into a slayer of darkspawn. Fifteen years since his heart, his certainty, was shattered by blood mages leaving him a jagged edge that slit apart all who drew near. So long, it could have failed dozens of times over but they kept finding each other. A long, knotted road for both to travel before stumbling upon a place of peace.

_Maker, Andraste, thank You both for giving me the patience to wait, and the sight to know when it was love before me._

Lana mumbled something incoherent, dragging Cullen away from his musings. He tried to lift her off his chest, but she clung tight. "It's probably tradition to celebrate ones engagement and, any other time I'd tear those pants suckered to your ass off you, but I'm afraid I'm waning quickly."

Trying to not laugh at his...Maker's breath, she was his fiancé now. The idea drew a smile to Cullen's lips which he placed onto the top of her head. Tugging her upward, Lana slipped weary feet on top of his and together they staggered towards the mattress that would one day become a bed. Their bed, a marital bed. It seemed too much to hope for.

Rolling onto the straw and snatching up a blanket, Lana slid over onto her side. Her head dug deep into the pillow, those lush lashes slipped tight. Cullen took his time, yanking off his boots and clothes, arranging them onto their lone chair and then burrowing under the blanket to watch her, his future wife. He was going to be the Hero of Ferelden's husband. That was...

After she left him in Kirkwall, he'd often start from a dream unlike the others that haunted him. There were no blood mages, no demons, simply Lana and Cullen together, as impossible as it seemed. It was foolish to cling to, but as his world crumbled around him, the hope was all he had - an impossible future that somehow became reality. Cullen caressed his thumb across her cheek, watching the gentle rise and fall as she breathed deep.

"I love you beyond reason," he whispered to the night air.

Her cheek lifted below him, a smile answering his confession, "And I you, even if you won't go to sleep."

Whispering a wordless apology for keeping her awake, he tugged his hand back to his side but kept watching Lana. The candles dampened, only a blue haze from their brazier lifting awake, even though Lana didn't shift in her dreams. Her magic was a whisper through the world, barely noticeable to him anymore. Happy beyond his wildest dreams, Cullen felt the sweet bliss of sleep waiting for him.

"You know," Lana's thoughts interrupted from the darkness, "we're going to have to have a wedding and invite all our friends."

He started wide awake at the idea of the Divine, the king of Ferelden, the Inquisitor, the Champion of Kirkwall, and anyone else who bore the power to sway nations all swooping into their little abbey for a wedding. Groaning at the idea, Cullen tried to mash his face into his pillow, "Oh Maker."

Lana simply chuckled.

 

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, the bad. Aside from a little fall/halloween themed short coming in October this is the last of Lana and Cullen. I'm retiring them before I break everything I made while on some kind of godzilla sugared up rampage.
> 
> The good, I'm not done with the universe I built. Which means there's another story I'm working on, though it's in the preliminary figuring everything out stage. It's about Alistair settling into life with his two children. When his happiness is threatened he finds himself entangled with an elven bodyguard opening up a chapter in his life he thought he closed, burned, buried, and then burned again. I have no idea when I'll start on it, fall is turbulent for me, but one thing I can always use is names.
> 
> I love making up new characters, even small side ones, but I hate naming them. If you ever wanted to be tossed into this thing now's your opportunity. Give me a name and tell me if you only want to be a good guy or if you really want to be a bad guy. Some physical traits are good, or I can just wing it all. Thanks for any help. Naming stuff if boring!
> 
> One more thing. Seeing as how this is the same universe, there might be a cameo by Lady Amell and her husband from time to time. You never know.


End file.
